


bits and pieces from Room For A Third 'verse

by sherlocked10097



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlock, Alcohol, Angst, Banter, Blood, Blowjobs, Breaking and Entering, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, RP format, Sheriarty - Freeform, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts (oh Jim), Texting, mormor, super repressed jerks crying too often
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked10097/pseuds/sherlocked10097
Summary: A sort of incomplete prequel to our Room for A Third, or, a series of prequels. If you haven't read that, maybe best to start here!Some bits may not be complete, as they were written over years and some got lost. But there's fluff, smut, angst, emotional damage, Sheriarty, MorMor, Adlock, guest appearances by other characters, and each chapter will be labeled accordingly so if you only want to read one pairing or another, easy to do so. What more is there to say of such an odd mishmash of tales? Other than, hope you like them.





	1. A Warning from Mycroft.

Were you trying to flaunt your relationship, or are you just that arrogant? –MH

Why, hello there, Inevitability. Let’s go with the latter. –JM

I’m not sure what your game is, but it stops now. –MH

Good thing it’s not a game or I’d take that as a precursor to a threat of some sort. –JM

Violating my brother isn’t a game? That’s hilarious. –MH

Violation? That implies unwillingness. –JM

Uninformed consent still isn’t consent. –MH

I’d say you’re the uninformed one in this case. –JM

Am I? I work in Intelligence, so I find that hard to believe. –MH

You would. Have you even bothered discussing this with Sherlock? Might learn something. –JM

That’s a hilarious notion. How well have you trained him? –MH

You truly believe he’s incapable of making his own decisions, don’t you? No wonder he ignores your calls. –JM

I believe when it comes to you, he is…Irrational. Sentimental. –MH

Well, that’s nice to hear. –JM

It’s a flagrant violation of everything I ever taught him. –MH

Ever consider that that might be a good thing? –JM

No, because that’s impossible. –MH

What exactly are you hoping to achieve with this conversation? –JM

To give you a choice. Either it ends now, or I have you…’disappeared.’  -MH

Let me get this straight. I threaten to obliterate him, and you sit on your arse. But I adore him, and that’s when you barge in. That’s pretty twisted, Iceman, and that’s coming from me. –JM

Leave my brother out of your sick plans. –MH

I take care to. Don’t worry so, he’ll remain on the side of the angels. –JM

Then what exactly is your goal? –MH

I’m afraid it’s beyond your comprehension. –JM

Oh, I’m sorry. Please try to explain in the simplest terms. –MH

Simplest? I’m mad about him. –JM

Interesting choice of words. -MH

I’m sure you’d rather that confession be coming from the good doctor, but we can’t always get what we want. –JM

I’d rather it be almost anyone else. –MH

So, should I forward him all these and give him another reason to ignore you, or are you going to leave us alone? –JM

Blackmail? Seems unlike you, Moriarty. –MH

How sweet of you to say, I’m touched. –JM

Stop being flattered. I’m not my brother, this won’t work on me. –JM

Oh, I assure you, it was hardly genuine. And even when it is, it doesn’t work on him on a bad day. But you’re not around for those anymore, so I suppose you wouldn’t know about that. –JM

I see every detail of the big picture, Iceman. I know he’s all you’ve got. But he’s all I’ve got, too. Looks like we’re just going to have to share. –JM

Perhaps he is. And because of that, I worry about him. Constantly. Especially since his new fascination seems to be a criminal mastermind. –MH

Would you believe me if I said I worry, too? –JM

About your own skin? Yes. –MH

I keep him entertained. Better than the alternative. –JM

You expect me to believe you aren’t enabling him? –MH

In what regard? –JM

Drugs? –MH

I’m almost offended. Why do you think I keep him busy? Great minds shouldn’t go to waste. –JM

Suppose that’s sound enough logic. –MH

I’m not particularly afraid of you, ergo not obligated to assure you. You’ve only believed exactly everything I’d like everyone to. But I wouldn’t be easily parted from him. Understand that. Accept it. –JM

I’m not averse to taking the difficult path. –MH

I wish you’d stop toying with him. He seems to be truly enamored. –MH

Where do you get that idea? –JM

I mentioned your name once awhile ago. His physical reaction was subtle, but it was there. Might as well have broadcasted it to the world. –MH

Why tell me that? –JM

To tap into whatever humanity you might still have. –MH

It did. Though not the way you think. –JM

Enlighten me. –MH

[Sometimes I can’t tell what he means and doesn’t. Because of what you taught him to be. DELETED] I don’t think I will. –JM

Sensitive subject, isn’t it? Don’t forget, if you try to hide things, I’ll figure them out. I’m not Sherlock. I’m a little better. –MH

If you’re that good, then you already know. –JM

Without body language, it’s difficult to get the finer details. –MH

Please. Three weeks and you didn’t get much. I’d invite you for one of our dates but you’d probably kill the mood. I never did tell him about those weeks, by the way. Said it was a prolonged business trip. You’re welcome. –JM

You were together even then? –MH

Never mind, I missed quite a bit. How did you explain the marks? –MH

Business gone bad. –JM

Not so far from the truth. –JM

Suppose you didn’t technically lie to my brother. Which explains why he isn’t mistrustful of you. He’s good at spotting a fib. Then again. You’re hard to read. –MH

I don’t lie to him if I can help it. Yet another thing you’re inclined to disbelieve. –JM

You’re misdirecting. –MH

Am I? Didn’t realize. –JM

This stopped being cute a long time ago. –MH

What nerve did I strike? –MH

Sherlock might mistrust me. You seem to think it’s not so, and I’ll happily take that. God forbid I speak my part, right? I think you’re looking for reasons to get huffy that simply aren’t there, sweetcheeks. –JM

Speak your part, then. You have my limited attention. –MH

There’s Privileged Information, and then there’s you hearing things before he does. No. Not right, not happening, and only barely your business. –JM

Oh. That’s cute, Moriarty. –MH

You think you’re in love with my brother. –MH

And you seem to think he’s in love with me. Must be so worrisome from where you’re standing. –JM

I didn’t say ‘love’. I’d be more comfortable with ‘infatuation’. –MH

Curiously, you haven’t denied my diagnosis. –MH

Nothing to deny. –JM

Dangerous disadvantage. Especially with my brother. Surely you learned from Ms. Adler’s mistakes? –MH

Seeing as I give him more credit than you do as a rule, I’m well aware. –JM

If what you’re suggesting is true, I almost pity you. –MH

Big ‘if’, isn’t it? I love ‘If’s.  –JM

And therein lies my discomfort. –MH

Which is more your problem than mine. –JM

I could easily make it your problem. –MH

He seems close to happy, at times. If you really want to risk that, be my quest. –JM

Oh, I think I see the issue now. –MH

And what I don’t want to risk is his life. His happiness comes second. –MH

What issue? –JM

If I’m right, you already know. Suffice to say, I’m surprised how ruled you are by your heart. –MH

He risks his own life enough for us both. Discretion has so far kept him off the radar of those who wish to get to me. Go on, admit you’re impressed. We have the world fooled, after all. –JM

I’m impressed. But not in a good way. –MH

Well, naturally. I didn’t expect a change of heart here.. –JM

I doubt Sherlock would appreciate me interfering in his relationship, so I suppose if you cannot be swayed, there is little I can do. –MH

There’s no right answer – damned in your eyes if I do, damned if I don’t. But so long as you keep your beak out of it, no reason he should be forwarded all this concern of yours. –JM

I’m sure he knows. –MH

I’m almost convinced he’s only doing this to put me off. –MH

You would just love that. –JM

As long as the joke goes on, no. –MH

He kissed every bruise you gave me. –JM

Repulsive. –MH

I should thank you, really. Bit of tenderness is hard to come by in this world, especially from a Holmes. –JM

Thank me for his callousness, not his tenderness. No, that was from father. –MH

That deserves no thanks. Only blame. –JM

I take it as a compliment regardless. –MH

And I like him just as he is. Get the sense that for some reason he doesn’t think himself worthy of that. Wonder why. But talking about him like this isn’t very nice, either. –JM

We’re not nice people. –MH

He’d hate it. –JM

He hates most things I do. –MH

Afraid I can’t sympathize there. I can recommend going about it a different way, but you know my advice doesn’t come cheap. –JM

Your advice usually ends with someone dead. I politely decline. –MH

I won’t hurt him. -JM

I believe you won’t. Until you get bored. –MH

I know you won’t be blabbing to Johnnyboy. Because then John would leave. And Sherlock needs him so. –JM

Does that bother you? That you’re not the only one in his heart? –MH

There’s a practical element to it. –JM

It seems you’ve got it all figured out. –MH

The surrounding pawns and pieces, yes. –JM

I’m sorry, were you trying to win my favor? –MH

Not really. I’m fond and all, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t really see brother-in-law being a bridge we’re going to have to cross. –JM

Thank God. Too normal for you? –MH

For all involved, I should think. Any other threats or concerns you need to get out of your system? Have a hot date tonight, wouldn’t want to be late. –JM

Never tell me details, and I think we’ll be okay until his corpse washes up in the Thames. –MH

Well, aren’t you magnanimous this evening. Deal. –JM

You’ve been warned. My brotherly duties have been fulfilled. –MH

And then some. Have a pleasant night. And try to lighten up a little, I hear it’s good for you. –JM

Trust me, ‘lightening up’ would be a bad idea for me. –MH

You’ll have to elaborate on that someday. Maybe at a family reunion? Oh, but I’m kidding. Sweet dreams. –JM

On your head be it. –MH


	2. MorMor - angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: MorMor 
> 
> contents: angst, alcohol, hurt/comfort to an extent
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> Jim and mostly-asexual Sherlock in relationship.  
> Seb not alright about this, debating leaving London, but texted Sherlock out of spite, spilled that he and Jim still shag on occasion.  
> Sherlock was very very upset, Jim came to 221B to discuss and fixed it with him, kinda.  
> Jim texted Seb the next day, found out Seb had done it fully knowing it was likely to break up their situation.  
> Jim and Seb texted, angry. Jim drank all Seb’s scotch. Seb got worried about him and came home.]

“Boss?” Sebastian called, shutting the door to the flat behind him.

“Mor _on_ ,” Jim greeted him back flatly, eyeroll and all, sitting sprawled on the big living room chair, head on one armrest and legs over the side of the over, empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table.

“Because I haven’t heard  _that_ one before,” Moran replied with an eyeroll of his own. He walked forward, kneeling beside his chair, years of caring trained into him. “Why are you so down? You had a good day, judging by how long it took you to berate me.”

Jim tilted his head to look at Sebastian, something either sad or drunk or both in the half-lidded eyes. Because the precarious balance of everything had been shifted without his choosing; because he’d hurt Seb and nearly lost him being around; but he couldn’t say these things. “You shouldn’t even care, isn’t that the point?”

“And you  _don't_ care. That’s the difference.” Sebastian shrugged, gently grasping Jim’s limp hand, entwining their fingers. “I can’t help but care. So. What the hell?”

Seb was wrong again, with that, but rather than voice the fact, Jim’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sebastian was an idiot to care. A gorgeous idiot, but all the same. “I’m just hammered, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, monotone.

“Don’t lie to me,” Moran said firmly. “It’s been ten years, I know when you’re hiding things.” And he did. Jim didn’t have telltale body language, or a tone that gave him away. He was too controlled for that. Seb just _knew_.

Couldn’t Seb have just been angry at him and piss off, rather than drag Jim through things that hurt and come to see the results firsthand? It was awful, and if he knew one thing for sure, it was that Seb wouldn’t let him. “Be _cause_ , Se _bastian_ ,” Jim said almost bitingly, and nearly kicked Seb in the process of shifting to sit up. A mask of intensity, but not a mask at all: something real, agitated. “Don’t you get it? The whole of the ramifications of what you did.” His hand left Seb’s so that both came to the sides of the sniper’s head, and held him still. “Remind me time and time again how _fool_ ish I’m being. I  _don't_ make wrong decisions. And you went. And made a decision for me.” Jim grit his teeth as he stared at the other, nodding at his own words. “And don’t seem to understand. That of COURSE I don’t know. Whether. It was. The right choice.”

Moran didn’t flinch one bit. Years of military training, he didn’t defy a direct order. He let Jim nearly kick him, clench at the sides of his head. He stayed stone, on his knees. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand, sir,” he said, voice a perfect deadpan. Because Jim was drunk, right? What he was saying made little sense. Jim Moriarty didn’t  _doubt_ his choices. “Which choice are you referring to?”

Dizzy? Jim squinted, focusing harder on Sebastian’s face, mouth agape. Suddenly Seb was asking _t_ _oo_ right a question, and Jim looked down, shook his head, blinked. There had been such intensity, and at Sebastian’s non-understanding it had dropped away, as did his hands. His brow furrowed, lip curling in something like disgust. So he’d never have Sebastian in bed again, big deal. The man would clearly still be around when needed…perhaps it was the very temporary ‘quitting’ that had made him panic. Made him feel like he couldn’t have one good thing he wanted, without everything else falling apart. “…nothing. N’vermind. I’m…”

It seemed Moran’s body took on the intensity that left Jim in some strange equal and opposite reaction. His eyes darkened, hand coming up to snatch Jim by the collar. “Fuck nevermind, _sir_ ,” he growled, pulling their faces close. “I came because I was  _worried,_ and you’re still playing your stupid _games_.” He yanked Jim up, standing, Jim slightly hovering above the floor. “Now fucking give me a straight answer before I take them from you.”

Jim could have laughed at the absurdity of  _Seb_ having been afraid  _he'd_ be the one getting killed, but something else was at work, keeping him from even making the connection. His stomach flipped unpleasantly, bile rising in his throat with Sebastian’s grip, and another wave of dizziness combined with nerves as he was lifted.

“Put me down, I’m gonna be sick,” Jim warned in a rush, voice wavering as he tried to swallow it back, shoving as best as he could at Sebastian’s shoulders.

Seb rolled his eyes, setting his boss’ body back on the chair. “Jim.” He said in a level, warning tone, “I’m getting answers. End of story.”

Landing in the chair made matters decidedly worse, stomach churning hard again. No time to reach for the small garbage can before all the scotch made a throat-burning reappearance, Jim leaning away from Seb, three heaves over the side of the chair and onto the floor. For an Irishman, his tolerance was absolute shit, and he reckoned this was the most disgusting thing to happen to him in a long while. Maybe if Sebastian hadn’t been such a violent bastard. “Ugh…” he raised his head slowly, eyes glassy, breathing hard. “Give me…a goddamn minute. And…w-water. Bread…”

Seb wrinkled his nose. _This_ was going well. He sighed, leaving momentarily, returning from the kitchen with a glass of water and a roll of crackers. “Suppose I’ll call the maid in the morning.” Then he took a detour to place the items in the bedroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he droned, returning to Jim, holding his hand out to help him up.

Jim sat up slightly, testing out the ability to do so. No more scotch. Ever. Of course, everyone always said that. He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes to regain some center, and didn’t want to think about the fact that one of the knees of his trousers felt wet, probably with scotch grossness. He glanced slowly up at Sebastian, looking rather pitiful without even trying. “What would I do without you,” he muttered before realizing the gravity of the words, and with a sigh took Seb’s hand and rose unsteadily from the chair.

Sebastian sighed. That question was low. Painful. A glaring reminder that Jim needed him, just not  _that_ way. Not in a way he’d ever really care about. Just as a passive, yet necessary force. Seb helped him up, taking him to the bedroom. “Get into your pajamas,” he said gruffly, leaving to get a warm washcloth. He cared. He cared abundantly, no matter how much he denied it, or wanted to run away.

It was as if all the mental had decided to turn itself physical, and Jim felt strangely weak. And still drunk. He blinked dazedly as Seb left but did as told, finding black silk pajamas folded on the dresser, careful and slow in changing into them. He was shaking somewhat. What if Seb struck out like that again? Jim was in no shape to defend himself. The only other person who might, would be shot on sight for arriving if asked to. Christ. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shirt, trying to wrap his head around the fact that answers were still expected of him. Trying to figure out why stopping things with the ever-present Sebastian was a more dreaded notion that he'd thought at first glance.

Seb returned moments later, holding out the damp towel. “Here. To clean your face,” he said, keeping arm’s length away, returning to his ‘servant’ mode. It seemed the safest policy at the moment, now seeing the state Jim was in.

Jim nodded, accepting the towel and doing so. “I didn’t…mean to be unclear,” he murmured, letting the cloth drop. He wasn’t about to begrudge Seb getting rough – under other circumstances it might’ve done something for him – but Jim was letting Sebastian know that was not the best way right now to go about loosing his anger. Spotting the water on the nightstand by chance, he moved onto the bed and made for it, hand shaking as he took a long, slow sip.

“Fine,” Seb snapped, leaning against the wall, watching as Jim crawled about. “But unless you’re volunteering to be clear, I should be taking my leave.” It’s not that he _wanted_ to, it’s just that he didn’t think he could keep control of himself for Jim’s sake much longer if he wasn’t going to cooperate.

Jim set the glass down, shoulders slumping, gaze on the bed. “I….what I said was entirely selfish, and that’s why the Nevermind,” he clarified, hands coming to rest over the backs of his elbows. “Because you could be right about everything, Sebastian. About him. I don’t think you _are_ , but you could be.” Jim took the water again, another sip and swallow, glass held near his lip as he looked up at the sniper. His tiger. “When I said I didn’t know earlier, I meant it. There’s… _something_ there, with Sherlock. And you’re taking it to mean that I don’t give a single fuck about you, and news flash, that’s simply not true. So. None of this. Is cut and dry easy.”

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. “That’s all well and fine. But the only part I’m really interested in is: what do you want from  _me_ in all this?” He chewed his bottom lip, realizing just how helpless he was in the situation, despite being the sober, alert one. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t  _stay_ in the same capacity. Jim was quickly evolving past the relationship, whereas it was all Seb had really ever known in the way of _feelings_. And Sherlock had to ruin that.

It was a good question. Another one Jim could easily say he didn’t know the answer to, and that’d make Seb scoff and walk. He shrugged. “Something like companionship, if it’s not too much to ask,” Jim said, looking back down at the glass in his hands. He didn’t really do friendships. Ew. No purpose. But the idea of losing Seb entirely had, via a few glasses of scotch, made him literally sick.

“It is,” Moran replied. Because that was just cruel. Asking him to stick around, knowing he would. The fact that Jim did  _nothing_ close to companionship. There were professional relationships (Seb and other employees), lasting flings (Seb), and Sherlock. “If that’s all, I’m going to bed. I’ll sort out whether I want to quit in the morning.”

Jim’s lips pursed, then turned into a frown. He’d known it would be too much, and was equally selfish as what had come before. It should have occurred to him sooner, that it had all meant more to Sebastian. “Just…work, then. If you do stay.” Jim’s voice was toneless again. He felt wrung-out. As if he’d spent the last half-week defending and proving what few feelings he  _did_ have for those he cared something about, which he had. If Irene Adler or the pet tropical fish took offense with him between now and Friday, he’d have nothing left to give. And he still couldn’t help that nagging voice that said Seb was right about Sherlock. No. Not true. Not after everything.

Moran ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly. “That’s just it, Jim.” He sighed, sitting next to him on the mattress. “I’m afraid I’m too…Compromised, to continue serving you. It might be best to find another sniper.”

An admission of love if ever he heard one. He’d never find anyone who protected him for that, as much as the money. He’d probably never have as good a fuck, either, but time would only tell. Jim bit his lip, and shook his head before draining the last of the water. “You’d know better than I,” he stated, more confidently than his voice had sounded before. “Sleep on it.” He didn’t want to find someone else. He didn’t want for Sebastian to not be around. But he’d made a choice and now it was Seb’s to deal with. Block out the rest, push back the miserable, focus on his other favorite person in the world. “I’ll sleep on the sofa in the office.” Grabbing the crackers, he got up and made to leave the room.

“Jim…” Seb grabbed his wrist, “You’re clearly ill. I’ll sleep in the office. It’s not a big deal to me, and you need the bed more than I do.” God, he was pathetic. Always caring about Jim, putting him first. Meanwhile, Jim would never be able to think of anyone but himself. Unless directly confronted by it. Painfully. He hoped the detective could figure that out.

The plan had been to get his phone from the living room on the way elsewhere, discreetly; not blatantly showing Sebastian he’d prefer to talk to Sherlock just now. Sherlock, the reason he thought he hadn’t needed his meds today because he felt that damned good – his famed Van Gogh’s yellow paint. And then all this. Jim looked at the hand on his wrist before casting raised eyebrows Seb’s way, too tired for the usual malice of such a pointed gaze but not without warning. Seb cared so much. And wouldn’t let Jim forget it. But to tell Sebastian three little words – let me go – even Jim saw the cruelty in that. “Basher, just…”

Seb let go, hearing his silent plea, “Fine. Fuck it, Jim.” He raised his hands in surrender, laying back on the bed. He let his sarcastic body language hide the stab of pain that ran through him. It’d been a long time since he’d gone to bed alone. “Hit the lights on the way out, would you?”

Jim should have been pleased by such obedience to the unspoken, but didn’t look it. His expression was inscrutable as he gave Sebastian a lingering glance. It was more than strange to think they might not share the bed again. No wonder Jim didn’t want to be in it. They’d had fights that lasted consecutive evenings, but this was a whole new level of finality. It hurt and should have and he recognized that. “….night,” Jim said at last – how one syllable could betray such uncertainty, he had no idea. He turned off the light as asked and shuffled into the living room, determined to ignore the ache in his chest.

Seb didn’t reply, staring into the darkness, focused on some point on the obscured ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he’d wanted it to end. But not like that. Not with such anger. And sadness. All sorts of things. Despite the magnitude of fatigue, emotionally drained, he couldn’t sleep.

Jim shuffled to the table and picked up his phone, meaning to text and find out if Sherlock was awake. But god, clingy much? And somehow he just couldn’t. He felt awful all over and wrong. Didn’t even make it to the office before the urge to curl up anywhere led him to the sofa, stretching onto it with a heavy sigh. Sebastian, the only person he really trusted…Jim curled his arms around himself, wishing he could yell it out or something, not doing so for fear of being heard. Feelings, he’d always known but was finding anew, fucking sucked.

Seb heard Jim crumple onto the sofa. He sighed heavily. It couldn’t smell good out there, what with Jim’s sick still waiting in the tepid air. “Come back,” he called softly. It wasn’t a command so much as beseeching. This was stupid, though he’d never admit it. Jim would call it oversimplification, but that seemed accurate, “I’m sorry, okay?”

Jim felt like punching himself in the face for not closing the door. Stupid. Unless subconsciously he’d hoped for just this. Shoving up from the sofa, Jim took his phone with him to the bedroom, leaning in the doorway with arms crossed, tilting his head down and out the light from the hall. “Don’t say that,” he said. “The fuck do you even have to be sorry for?” It was combative but incredulous; he wanted to know. It was all his own fault, so why was Sebastian sorry?

Seb sighed again, propping himself up on his elbows. “For getting pissed at you for being who you are. For being  _exactly_ who you’ve always been.” He shook his head slowly. “I got stupid. It’s not my job to hold you accountable. It’s my job to protect you. End of story.” Even if it broke his heart, it was true. He was never entitled to Jim’s feelings, nor had Jim ever led him on that he might have them. “Just come to bed, alright?”

It was twisted to accept that as an apology, because he didn’t deserve one. But still it rang of truth, and Jim shrugged, nodding to imply he’d heard it but didn’t know what to say. Bed, jesus. Well, he was too poorly to even feel tempted towards anything but sleep, but just holding the phone made him wonder if sleep was off the table, too. Should be. For Sebastian’s sake. Silently, Jim waited until more hidden by the room’s darkness to rub his arm across his eyes, set the phone on the nightstand and moved onto the bed. “Yes, _sir_ ,” Jim muttered dryly, rather than point out that this couldn’t possibly make them feel better. It would only prolong the pain.

“Shut up, Jim,” Moran rolled his eyes, stripping his shirt and getting under the covers, leaving his trousers on. He rolled to his side, leaving ample room for Jim, not at all threatening to encroach.

How would they even sleep like this, all stiff with each other and agitated? It seemed pointless. If he were sober, he could be working. This was just…non-functional in so many ways. Jim sighed heavily, stretching out on his back, hands crossed over his abdomen. And what if Jim did end up tearful, and Seb noticed? It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility just now, a frustrated little grunt leaving his lips as he tugged blankets over himself, trying to get them settled just so.

Seb rolled on his back, resuming his attempt at boring holes in the ceiling with his eyes. He couldn’t sleep like this, obviously. But it didn’t matter where either of them were. Besides. If he did fall asleep, he’d just have nightmares of insecurity and inadequacy.

Jim’s chest rose and fell slowly at first but then fast, a rising panic. It was distressingly silent. Other nights when this was the prevailing mood, he’d just engage Seb, and get filthy good distractions out of it. Jim tensed, mad at himself for the thought, and turning onto his stomach fitfully, pressed his face into the pillow, the sides of it held hard against his ears. Too much silence, blocked out by more.

“Breathe, Jim,” Seb said calmly. He knew that tension. Where Jim could hear things that weren’t there in the dead silence. Anxiety. Panic. Shock from being off the meds. He put a hand on his back, rubbing up and down softly. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.” He’d lived through hundreds of these episodes. In fact, it’s why they began their long-term hookup in the first place. But Moran knew he had to find alternate ways to help. Jim was vulnerable, he couldn’t just take advantage.

**[Jim's panic attack scene was lost due to technical difficulty but Sebastian drew him out of it more or less]**

It was as good a confession as any. Hell, from Jim, it may as well have been a ten page essay. But…Sebastian had a feeling he’d never get this close to it again, so he decided to pry. “Well…if you refuse, you’re probably going to lose me anyway.” He shrugged slightly, still holding Jim fast to his body. Deceitful, yes. He doubted he could ever really leave. But it was nice, hearing Jim talk, albeit drunkenly and begrudgingly.

Despite the front he was trying to put up, Jim made a tiny disgruntled noise, and squeezed his eyes closed harder. “Not helping, tiger…” It should have been like a bandage, ripped off in one go and leaving things open to bleed, but Sebastian’s arms around him felt nice. With Sherlock, it was new and novel. With Seb, it was familiar. It was home.

Moran sighed. Well, Jim wasn’t helping either. But he figured that was  _also_ the wrong thing to say. “Sorry, boss.” Tiger. Hm. Still with the endearment. Seemed almost wrong now, but he couldn’t help but smirk a bit as he heard it. “Whenever you’re ready then.”

Ready. Jim huffed dismissively at the word. He should just get up, brush his teeth, take another halfhearted crack at pretending not to care what happened. Jim ended up just squirming a little, burrowing his face further into the crook of Sebastian’s arm.

Sebastian groaned. Alright. He was going to be difficult. “Jim…You’re not _that_ drunk.” He pecked at the top of his head, hands lightly running up and down Jim’s back comfortingly. “I’m sorry about how I feel. I really am.”

Jim sighed, restless. At least the main bout of panic had mostly passed. The embrace hadn’t fixed much, but it had helped there. He didn’t need the soothing touches anymore, or at least thought he didn’t, shifting onto his side to look at Seb. “So am I. But that doesn’t change anything, really.” He reached up and ruffled Sebastian’s hair, a fond gesture, sadness in his eyes. “And I can’t stop you from doing what you feel is best. Well…I could. But it wouldn’t do much, in the grand scheme of things. You’re my tiger, I don’t want to  _torture_ you,” Jim added bitterly. If Seb couldn’t or didn’t want to stay with him, Jim wasn’t about to tie him down, even to the professional.

“Well…thanks for that, I guess," Seb replied, flinching a bit at the touch. It was…unusual for him to be any sort of affectionate. He sighed, loosening his hold somewhat. “I don’t know. I hope it works out for you," he offered awkwardly. He wasn’t sure how break-ups were supposed to go. He hadn’t really had a boyfriend or girlfriend since high school.

Jim was quiet a long moment as that sunk in. The first pinch of positivity he’d ever thrown Jim’s Sherlock-related plans that didn’t have to do with certain death. “…thank you,” Jim whispered. He knew this was causing the sniper pain, so it was nice of Seb to say even if he didn’t entirely mean it. But that was the thing, Jim knew he did. Knew Seb wanted him to be happy. If things didn’t work with Sherlock…well. “Generous of you.” Jim wondered who Seb would end up with, at least at first. It wouldn’t even make Jim all that jealous, so long as Sebastian remained in his employ. “…do you hate me for all of this?”

“Ask me again sometime,” Sebastian suggested, averting his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Jim. Not when he wasn’t sure. Nothing about this situation was certain. “Do you even care? You’ll do what you do regardless. You’ve shown that much.”

“That’s so…” Jim admitted cautiously. He felt Sherlock Holmes in his blood, how could he ignore that? Sebastian didn’t want to hear it. “This hurts. Seb. Okay? Pretty sure that means I care. Whether I want to or not.”

“It hurts _you_?” Moran said sarcastically, but then stopped himself short of saying something worse. He shook his head. “Forget it, Jim. Okay, you care. I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

This was exasperating, really. Jim shoved at Seb’s shoulder lightly, with a scoff, scooting further from the other, facing away. “Of course it’s not. Why should it be. Why do you think I said nevermind earlier. Jesus…” At the risk of losing Sebastian’s soothing intentions, Jim knew, but he wasn’t sure how much more he could take and maintain what calm he’d regained. “I’ve said what I have to say. Or tried to. ‘Sorry’ was in there somewhere, in case you didn’t notice. I don’t know what else…” Jim trailed off, staring blankly at the wall.

Seb instinctively curled an arm around Jim’s waist, cuddling up to him. “I’ll decide that for myself.” He lightly brushed his lips at the nape of his neck. “I’m stubborn as you are.”  
  
  


**[remainder of scene lost but will be added if ever found]**


	3. MorMor - arguing, feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A RARE FULL ENTIRE SCENE!
> 
> [pairing: MorMor
> 
> contents: banter, emotions, trying to fix shit with dubious success, mentions of one time a while back that Sebsatian stupidly almost forced himself on Jim (but no graphic description thereof)
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> Sebastian did leave.  
> Jim was happy enough with Sherlock but eventually tells Seb he misses him, so Sebastian returned to London – but didn’t say so.  
> After a lackey spotted Seb leaving an apartment building, and a few curious texts from Jim went unanswered, Jim decided to break in and try to fix their professional relationship if not their personal.]

The name on the doorbell was unfamiliar to Jim but it would have to be, wouldn’t it? He was going off Callahan’s word, and with a grain of salt – Callahan was drunk more often than not, could’ve imagined seeing Sebastian. But then why hadn’t Seb answered texts? Jim couldn’t help but be…a little worried about him. Enough to justify breaking and entering. Sure enough, it was Seb’s favorite jacket over the back of the sofa, empty bottles one of only 6 beers that the sniper bothered with, and various other marks of the man he’d set free. Well. He’d wait, and hope Sebastian didn’t shoot him on sight in a moment of fury at a trespasser. Jim sighed, settling onto a big leather chair, posture stiff, wanting to present a very boss-like picture whenever Seb arrived. It was about work, getting back his best gun. Morstan was a freelancer, ergo less trustworthy overall. Sebastian belonged to Jim.

Seb was returning from his date that night – he’d been really quite fortunate to find such a lively girl. He understood it was a bit…suspect to be dating someone so young, but it felt quite affirming. He approached his flat – rented under the name Alexander Dorset – and immediately knew something was amiss. He turned the doorknob cautiously, seeing signs of scratching around the lock, and pulled out the knife he kept strapped to his thigh. Of course he’d been gone awhile, but he still had enemies. But then… “Of  _course_ you’d break into my flat…” Moran said in mock exasperation, dropping the knife, Jim sitting there in  _his_ chair.

Jim would know that tread anywhere. _Showtime_ , he thought to himself, rather callously, as the door slowly creaked open. He’d have felt unprepared for the sight of Sebastian if it weren’t so familiar to him. Convinced by now that this had all just been a horrible glitch in their acquaintance. Jim eyed the fall of the weapon and let his eyes travel upwards, swallowing imperceptibly as they met Sebastian’s. He nodded. “You’re a difficult man to get ahold of, nowadays.”

Seb huffed. “Yeah. Taking great care of myself and all.” He didn’t sit, but his posture and stance had relaxed as it always had whenever Jim was around. It was instinct, his body releasing serotonin at the sight of him, an old friend. He ran a hand through his hair. “What brings you to my corner of the city?” He was stalling, he knew that. But any other topic would be painful, no matter how inevitable.

Sebastian’s relaxation almost put Jim at ease, too. After all they’d said…well, of course it wasn’t just about business, but how obvious to point that out. But Sebastian was dropping guard, not encouraging a fight…it was good. And he  _was_ taking care of himself. Had shaved and all. Jim was secretly relieved, licking his lips before his teeth dragged across his lower one in thought. Jim’s hands moved from the edges of the armrests to fold over his lap. He felt small sitting, but knew it was less threatening. He hadn’t come to unnerve, merely inquire. “Would you like one answer, or several?”

“I want whatever’s true.” Sebastian knew too well Jim had probably several answers queued up. “If that’s more than one thing, so be it. But don’t waste my time.” He tried to be casual, callous, but…He couldn’t hide the small smirk as Jim licked his lips, biting at that beautiful mouth…No. Bad thoughts. Still, it didn’t stop Seb from mirroring the gesture.

God, but it was good to see him again. Jim had things well sorted. His previous uncertainties about Sherlock no longer existed, therefore could survive jabs if they came his way. Jim shrugged, glancing around the small flat – it already looked so lived in – before back to Sebastian. “Duty calls, should you choose to answer,” Jim started, rising slowly from the chair only to do the rare thing of plucking up an open pack of smokes from the table, carefully pulling one out. He’d like a prop, and had forgotten gum. “And of course I’ve been curious about your well-being. How could I not.” Looking the coffee table over for a lighter gave him a focus, a goal. Not seeing one, Jim made a slow stride to the open kitchen, separated from the front room only by a counter, and turned on the stove to catch a flame. Rather than ask Seb for a light, or get near him yet.

Seb blinked, watching Jim curiously. “Duty. Right," he grunted as he walked past, letting himself lean against the wall. “I don’t know. What is it?”

“A m-“ He mumbled around the smoke as he leaned it, lit, and turned the burner off again, straightening his back. “A meeting I shouldn’t be seen for. Would prefer you go in my stead. Earpiece. Game face. The usual.” Anyone could be Moriarty for a day, but Jim was sure Sebastian secretly enjoyed doing it. And Jim trusted him with details. Most of them. He brought the smoke to his lips and walked slowly back to the chair, perching on the arm of it as he inhaled lightly. Exhaled. Gum tasted so much better, but cigarettes tasted…well, like Sebastian.

“Unlike you to smoke, boss,” Sebastian quirked a brow. He hadn’t been expecting  _that_ kind of job. Of course Jim usually called for a stand-in, but he didn’t often ask  _him_ to do so. God forbid something happened to the sniper, but… Well. Seb actually enjoyed playing pretend. “I’ll consider it.”

A fleeting smile touched Jim’s lips at Sebastian calling him boss. Some things never did, never would and never could change. “Do. It’s a week from now, and you’ve been taking so long to make decisions lately.” Jim sighed, rising again to tap the first grey ashes into their proper place on the coffee table, and it was awful but he couldn’t really sit still anymore, beginning to wander, to orbit the room by sticking near the walls. He took a thoughtful drag, wrinkled his nose but carried on regardless. “Nice little place…I can have your things sent over tomorrow if you’d like.”

Seb inched toward Jim as he continued about his wandering. “Yeah, sure. Been missing my old stuff.” He snatched the cigarette from between Jim’s fingers, taking a deliberate drag as he looked at Jim, daring him to say anything as he gave it back. “Fine. I’ll play pretend for you. Might be fun.”

Well, that was cordial and nice and pretending to be painless. They  _were_ being good to each other today. It was…tentative, but…better. Jim’s head whipped around when the cigarette was taken, really not wanting Seb too close yet, but took the chance to get a discreet peek at his arm – no burn circles more than a week young at a glance’s guess. Good. Jim rolled his eyes and accepted the smoke once more, dipping his head as he took a short puff, a point being made that he wasn’t attempting any sort of tease with his mouth, and gave an appreciative hum at the confirmation. “I’m sure it will,” Jim said wryly, certain Seb would act up his heartless side out of spite therapy, when something completely incongruous caught his attention. Sweet. Sugar. Jim lifted his head, brows furrowed as he sniffed. Cotton candy? But strong even over the smoke, like tawdry body spritz perfume. Jim’s face evinced surprise for all of 0.02 seconds before he was able to wipe it clean with a smirk. “Ohh. Well.  _That's_ why you’re bothering to make an effort…” And why ignoring my texts…Huh. So the tiger had found a kitten.

Seb was disappointed at Jim’s non-playful nature. Painfully unlike him. Almost uncomfortably foreign. Jim  _always_ went along with it. At Jim’s deduction, he chuckled. “Yeah. Thought a change might be nice.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Youth and a gentler hand, you know how it goes.”

It wasn’t lost on Jim that Sebastian looked his best at his cockiest. Seb knew it, too, probably. Well, nothing said Jim wasn’t allowed to admire the view. Let it sink in that he’d missed the sonofabitch, and may well have him back at his side in the professional sense. Better than losing him entirely. Just clamp down on that whole some-bitch-is-riding-my-tiger feeling, because that was more than a tad hypocritical. Youth? Ah, well, Jim could counter that. Sherlock was younger than Seb. “Hmmm….I do, don’t I,” Jim answered, head tilting, without missing a beat, eyes glittering with malice that wasn’t. Something about Sebastian being here…being a cocky prick, being himself, being less Moriarty-damaged than when they’d seen each other last…comforting. Fun. Jim handed him the half-smoked cigarette back, smirking.

Oh.  _Oh._ That’s how Jim was going to play it? Seb scoffed, taking back the smoke. “You’ve got some nerve there, boss.” He shook his head, laughing a bit, fighting the urge to tackle him. “Obviously still a death wish.” He took a long drag, handing it back to Jim as he slowly exhaled, “How  _is_ that going?”

It was cruel. But Sebastian had laughed, and that was all that mattered, really. Tossing grenades to and fro, never letting them land, yes, that was just the way to do it. The thought of some pretty young thing that liked Seb, saw him beneath the scars, made him feel right again…infuriating, truth be told, but…everything should have a balance. The little victory kept the smirk on his face until the question, and Jim extracted the cigarette carefully, narrowing his eyes. “Ah, ah. When I said that was none of your business, I meant it.” He blew smoke in the general direction of Seb’s face rather than directly into it, a message that drifted mostly past the man’s broad neck. “Can we agree to that?” He wasn’t dead serious, but serious enough.

“We can, but you know that I know everything anyway,” Seb shrugged. Yes. The tension usually in Jim’s neck had dissipated, so it was at least going well. But such a quick rebuff? Negative on the sex. But much closer than before. Meanwhile, Seb was barely hiding a hickey, evidence that they’d gone much farther, and that she was still later teens to early twenties. “So. That’s it, then? Come to get me back on the side of evil?”

Not everything, Jim mused silently, but if it was none of Sebastian’s business, there was no sense in goading. The way Jim saw it, this was the easiest route. Oh, but he’d ashed on the floor…not being respectful of Sebastian’s new space would be symbolic of some deeper problem with it, and Jim couldn’t have that. Turning away from The Man Who Knew Too Much, Jim strode back towards the ashtray. A deep chuckle sounded in his chest at that comment as he leaned over to crush out the cigarette, and he turned to glance at Seb, eyebrows raised. The bastard was probably making a woman half his age squeal as often as he liked, judging by that scent. “As if you ever left.”

Ha. No. Of course not. “Well. Back in the colonies, I played it straight,” Seb smirked as he watched Moriarty walk away, taking a moment to appreciate his form all over again, making no secret of it, “Government. All secretive and whatnot.” But even being an assassin for the CIA was morally questionable…But the label of ‘good’ was there, even if it meant nothing. But the obvious rebuttal is there, unspoken: evil (Jim) had left him. So he left in return. He said he’d come back when Jim admitted to missing him, and he was still a man of his word, even if there were thousands of places less painful to be right now. “You didn’t sleep last night. Is that when you heard I was back?”

Jim had turned again, making sure not to burn his fingertips as he tamped the cinders out. He frowned thoughtfully. Government? ‘Good’ guys? It was almost irrelevant that he’d found out three days ago, and had sat on unanswered texts of casual greeting for as long before deciding what to do. “If you entangled yourself with them I’m going to assume you examined your phone, clothes, shoes and the lining of all your bags before coming back to me. They didn’t give you any presents, did they?” Jim didn’t sense betrayal in this manner from Sebastian, no, but he didn’t trust established organizations outside the one he’d handcrafted, and Seb being in the throes of his new passion could have gotten lax.

“Take a pill, Jim, I’m not an idiot.” Seb rolled his eyes, throwing out his arms, “Check me yourself if you’re that paranoid.” Oh. Shit. He didn’t think about how that’d sound. “I…Mean…Well…” But then shut himself up. He refused to second-guess himself just because it was awkward.

Jim paused, straightening up slowly. He’d actually been taking all his pills quite religiously, not wanting or trusting Sherlock with what could happen when he forgot. Though it would only rub the smoke smell into them disgustingly, he was wringing his hands. It was a gesture more  _suited_ to the dear Jim Zucco, one natural to him before his hands had been forever busy with keyboards, phones, shoved into pockets during important encounters. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t mean _you_ , Sebastian.” Jim’s voice was soft. “I know you wouldn’t.” His eyes opened, zeroing in on Seb’s from across the room. “I trust you.”

Sebastian almost choked on his own tongue. Oh, that was a _riot_. He lowered his arms back to his sides, stiffening up in line with his soldier training. “Sorry, _boss_ , didn’t know I was on trial at all. But I checked for bugs. I wouldn’t risk your network so carelessly.”

Jim gave Sebastian a withering look. The hand-wringing ceased, fingers stilled, sliding smoothly back into pockets. “Oh, so the offer to frisk you was purely recreational, I see.” He raised his eyebrows before shaking his head, resuming his wall-based orbit, not expecting an answer. If he could just meander and look at the walls, where odd bits of paint had chipped and caught his eye, or where a framed Kinks poster had already been put up, he might not have to look at Sebastian. The sour taste might always linger between them. They used to kiss it out of each other’s mouths  - what now?

“Because I take your suspicions of me lightly, _sir_ ,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Oh, Jim would hate the ‘sir’. Or, at least he would’ve a month or so ago, the old Jim deeming their relationship far too personal for such formalities, ‘boss’ being almost a term of endearment. Still. Something about the situation felt…rife with sexual tension. Probably just conditioning: snits like this usually ended with Jim against the wall, gasping madly for breath as they let their tongues fight it out.

There was a touch…just a touch…of danger in this. Snark, coldness, it all once passed as foreplay. Jim wasn’t entertaining the idea though aware of how their history clung to them, as if clothing, or smoke and scents that clung to it. Almost inseparable from where they stood now. Jim could reason with himself that they were both feeling out the limits of the strange, new, discomforting Different. He stopped his orbiting near the kitchen counter, resting an elbow on it, looking away from Sebastian and out the window across the room, blinking. “Whatever. I’m still glad you’re back,” he muttered, choosing to derail whatever train this was. “You have your assignment. Will have details by Wednesday. Equipment test…Friday, let’s say. I’ll be going now.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Wish I could say the same, sir.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He was glad to be back, but saying it felt like adding insult to injury. The feelings were still there, even if he wasn’t paying attention to them, nagging at his brain. “I’ll be waiting to hear back.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Suppose I’ll cancel my plans for Friday.”

Jim heard him as if underwater: there, but fuzzy. He wasn’t thinking of much in particular, but dissociating all the same. “No, morning’s fine,” Jim said on autopilot. Oh, but he’d been doing an awful lot of mornings at Sherlock’s, when he could. Much nicer than waking up in an empty bed. “…Two, rather. But still, no need for you to miss your plans.” Nor Jim his potential ones. Tiger’d already gotten some today, so it was unlikely he’d be crashing towards the new kitten for stress relief after this. Jim was only so stressed, keeping his cool. He’d at least have to tell Sherlock about this, all the better not to be hiding anything, but there was nothing to hide. Not much had changed between he and Sebastian’s dynamic. Only their way of coping with it.

Seb narrowed his eyes, stepping towards Jim with ferocity, purpose. Before he could blink, he was backing Jim into a wall. “ _None of that_ ,” he growled. Those dead eyes, hollow voice. “If you’re here, you’re here. End of story.” It was painful, and the only other times Jim acted like that were when he was clocking out of sex to think of the fucking detective.

It happened so quickly that Jim had no choice but to take the backward steps that almost stumbled, and it did indeed snap him out of his inattention. That growl had always worked in one way or another. Jim’s jaw tensed. He licked his lips, lowered his gaze. Animal logic: looking a wild, mad dog in the eye wasn’t bound to end well, even for another wild, mad dog. “Back the fuck up, Sebastian.”

Defiantly, Seb took another step forward. Yes. This felt much better. Familiar. And the lights turned back on in Jim’s eyes. “Why? So you can zone out on me again? Not bloody likely.” His features were hard, not missing Jim’s subconscious little tongue slip-up, but after the brush-off earlier, Seb was in no place to reciprocate.

Jim’s heart started racing at that growl. Bad, bad, bad. And it was. Seb could do anything to him, really. And had been given an order, and done the complete opposite. From a higher thinking standpoint, Jim knew Seb was either trying to find his new place or stomp, pillage and brawl his way back to the old. What Jim was about to do was either going to throw gasoline onto this fire, or snuff it out. He just didn’t know which. He’d been going to leave, damn it. Would’ve been easier than honesty. Fighting, ordering, these things didn’t work if Jim wanted to keep his distance. And now Seb had him against a fucking wall. He lifting his head, meeting Seb’s eyes. “Because," he mostly-lied. "You’re scaring me.”

Seb bit his bottom lip, hesitating only a second before stepping back. Probably still too close, but he was…uncomfortable with that statement. Scaring probably the most terrifying person he’d ever met? That was wrong. “Sorry,” he whispered, averting his gaze, arms dropping in defeat to his sides, stiffening as he clenched his fists. Idiot. He was an idiot, but this was nothing new. If he were smarter, perhaps Jim would actually want him. But alas, he couldn’t change something innate in himself, nor could he change that he, as he sometimes forgot, was an intimidating person.

It mightn’t have been so, before, when Seb’s tactics could be viewed as purely hot, and had limits. But after Seb proving once that he wouldn’t back down when he should…Jim felt the need to test it again. And these results, he found, were better. It took the pressure off, too. Only Sebastian looked as if he’d been stung. No surprise. Jim had never admitted fear to anyone in his adult life. Jim crossed his arms, let himself relax against the wall. “You’re…my big guns, Tiger. Even you said I’m shit in a fight.” He scoffed lightly, watching Sebastian for a long moment before moving slowly over. Jim placed his hands on the bigger man’s forearms. “...Forgiven.”

It was Seb’s turn to dissociate. He didn’t move, didn’t react. Didn’t matter if he was forgiven or not. Still completely unsettling, shaking him somewhere deep. He’d seen too much fear in his life, and it meant nothing, because he didn’t care. But he cared now. More about Jim than anyone else. Even Jim’s firm hands on his arms couldn’t snap him out of it.

If Jim didn’t know better, he’d think he’d broken Sebastian, or with one word killed the wild, mad dog that lived in him. The times Seb hadn’t hid his pains and Jim hadn’t helped…this couldn’t be another one. Jim swallowed, realizing he was risking a lashout at any moment. Ha, much like anyone around himself, ever. “Go sit down on the couch.” Jim craned his neck up, meeting Sebastian’s eyes. “I’m going to get you a beer, and you’re going to sit down, and I’m not leaving yet. Go. Sit. That’s an order.”

Seb inhaled sharply, but his voice was tired. “That’s a stupid order, boss.” He lingered for a moment, stuck somewhere between thinking that Jim had gone mad, to thinking he wasn’t that far behind him. He frowned slightly but nodded his head, and went to collapse on the sofa, movements near robotic in nature.

It was only as Seb walked away that Jim realized he was shaking. Sebastian usually laughed to be responsible for others’ fear, and while/because Jim paid him to. This was…different. Jim ignored the comment, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Oh, good, he hadn’t misjudged the beer situation. Jim pulled two out, finding the opener handily on the counter, and cracked them open. He was crazy to stay, probably. But so had Seb always been. Here it was, the unfamiliar and surreal answer to ‘what now’ – Just Being There. Jim brought the beers in, set one on the table before Sebastian, and settled into the chair. He didn’t drink or speak yet. Mainly because he had no idea what to say.

Seb just…stared at the beer on the table. An act of contrition. Another thing that was foreign. Usually it was just Jim’s company he looked forward to, that helped him. Something he could rely on. Even his callous, often abrasive nature was nice, as at least when he was being ordered to return to normalcy, he had direction. “I think it’d be much easier if I hated you…” he said quietly, the silence weighing on his shoulders like a cement mixer. “But I can’t.”

“Oh, I think you hate me just enough,” Jim replied almost pleasantly, “But not enough to make it easier.” He didn’t want to jar Sebastian further with all those displays Seb considered weird, off, inebriated of necessity. They might slip out anyway, as a few had already, with intentions of preserving a friendship of some sort. But he had to wonder if they were just torturing each other at this point. Without the lure of  a happy ending, maybe being a fatal duo had lost its sense of appeal. But they still appealed to each other. It was simply awful. Jim sipped his beer thoughtfully, making a face as he swallowed. At least it wasn’t scotch. “I could make you hate me more. But it’s not really in my best interests.”

“Accurate enough,” Seb replied before taking a long drink. Christ. Why did Jim have to know him? Far worse. And…well. It was easi _er_ for the smaller man certainly. Pursuing his greatest distraction. But that didn’t mean it was easy for him, powers of detachment and all. However…baiting him also had its appeal. “Suppose that’s not your conflict, though – you’ve never had a problem cutting people away.” Except Jim did. Was, currently. Texting him, commanding him to return, then out of the blue for no reason. Then texting after he’d heard he returned. Breaking in when he didn’t get an answer. The Jim Moriarty the world knew would  _never_ do these things. With that in mind, Seb let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

“No, usually I’d just have them killed,” Jim agreed speculatively, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he clutched his beer with both hands on his lap. “First time for everything, it seems,” he sighed.

Seb snorted. “I’d like to see you try.” Then he leaned back, taking another long sip. “Are you really so obvious, Jim?” he asked, leaning on his fist, bracing his elbow on the arm of the sofa.

Jim’s eyes darted rapidly to unmappable, indistinguishable points on the ceiling, cheek muscle twitching for a half second as he considered Sebastian’s words. Slowly he lifted the bottle to his lips, head meeting it halfway, both settling back to their original places before he replied. His lower lip worked for a moment, pouty almost in pursing against the upper, before finally he said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” Sebastian stated plainly, finishing off his beer too quickly. He set the bottle back on the table, eyes scanning Jim’s face. “Sentiment.”

Jim’s shoulders lifted and fell in a quick shrug, eyes still averted. “Good god, here I thought you had  _news_ or something,” Jim drawled, playing even this off because it was safer to do so. “I believe you know I’d prefer you around in some context rather than the alternative. You’re the one who gets pleasure out of ignoring me when I say so. How it’s not me, doesn’t sound like me. I mean - of ALL people, Sebastian, you know what I’m capable of, hot or cold.” He still wouldn’t look directly at Seb, though was glad that dissociative, blocked-off, unreachable spell had not lasted long. Sebastian was by nature a chatty chap.

“Well. I meant a few things,” Seb shrugged, smirking hard. “Never knew jealousy on you would be so…” He trailed off, bringing a hand up to his face, brushing one of the scars that he’d gotten in the line of servicing Jim’s network.

Jim eyed Sebastian in his periphery, finally sitting up. What did the tiger have up his sleeve, to make a face like that? And why did Jim want to know? To shut it down once and for all. To get Seb off his mostly-delusional idea that Jim was interested in going back to how things were. Fine, some interest, but he had willpower. “What  _even_ are you on about?” Jim asked, annoyance evident. Annoyance that Seb thought he had some winning card that Jim couldn’t spot, or hadn’t placed in the deck himself.

“Don’t get touchy.” He folded his arms over each other. “And if I told you everything, you’d lose interest.” He shook his head slowly, lifting his hands, palms open in defeat. “Like a cat, you’re going to do exactly what you want, regardless of who or what gets hurt. I’m collateral damage.” He pursed his lips. _J_ _ust like Sherlock will be._

“I’m already losing interest,” Jim huffed, leaning back into the chair, stretching his legs out to cross at the ankles upon the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be the straightforward one of us?” Besides that, Jim wasn’t even jealous of the girlfriend. But that was 50% lie. Despite all philosophical well-meaning for Seb’s future. Ah, but she’d run screaming as soon as she found out how he could be. Then there’d just be another one. No point even learning her name. “If the purpose of this is to remind me how poisonous I am, that’s also the furthest thing from news.”

“Mmm,” Seb agreed. He was supposed to be the blunt one. But. He didn’t exactly feel like himself. Whatever ease he once felt around Jim, the residual dregs were beginning to face, leaving a very cold, decaying void as he observed the situation from an almost far-off standpoint. “I think I’ve lost interest, as well.” Lie. But he didn’t have the energy to rebut Jim’s claims. Either he’d move on with his life, or he wouldn’t. “In all of it. Honestly. I’m too old for this.” That was true, but that didn’t mean he’d remove himself. He’d already tried that. “I worry about you, is all.”

But not too old to be shagging someone who smells like the bright pink teen cosmetic section of the pharmacy, Jim added silently. He was side-eyeing the sniper again wearily, and took another slow sip of beer. “Good thing I don’t pay you to worry about me,” Jim said, coldly dismissing a good decade of Sebastian at his side when no one else was allowed there. “Or is that what you mean by ‘all of it’ – come back to jolly old England just to quit on me?” Sebastian had made too many statements that didn’t connect. He was, in a way, pulling a Moriarty. Jim had to hone in which was the most important, if he wanted to sort them. But he didn’t really, yet. Just listening was still a little interesting.

Seb saw red. Did Jim  _really_ just say that? “No. You don’t.” _I care about you for free_. “Which is why you need me, if that’s even something you feel," he glared, barely containing his rage. “Your other lackeys would turn on you in a heartbeat for the right price! Me?” He sniffed, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with his Zippo, but didn’t take a drag yet. “Me. It took you fuckin' _shattering_ my heart for me to even falter. And it’s taking you being an absolute prick right now to keep me questioning why I returned.”

Jim had considered, whilst covered by the fridge door, texting Sherlock with an address and a command to send backup if Jim did not text again in two hours’ time. Just in case, like. At the look of Seb at the time, he’d doubted such was necessary, and it would have been a serious risk to all involved. Though now with a switch flipped, he wondered if he might regret not doing so. Jim took a slow, deep inhale, just staring back at Seb. “Yes, well, sitting there talking about sentiment with a smirk on your face, you should hardly be surprised I’d default to the defensive,” Jim answered coldly, continuing with the same chilly, even, rolling monotone.  “If I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t have bothered attempting to regain you. An idiot could do the math on that one.” His dark eyes were hard, calculating, covering up for that he did regret hurting Sebastian thus. It was funny, the way Seb blamed him, while Jim often felt as if the control were out of his hands. Some other force, some ideal to grasp at, that made magnets of himself and Sherlock. Not funny ha-ha, just funny. As was that the times he dared to apologize, to speak better – he’d been rebuffed.

Seb blinked. He’d put it together, of course. But truth be told…He just couldn’t feel  _okay_ at rest, being comforted. Anger was the only thing keeping him blunt, grasping at fragments of who he was when he loved Jim. “Whatever, boss. I’m returning to work, but I’d still recommend getting a different bodyguard. It’s clear you don’t trust me anymore.”

This was beginning to get to Jim. It seemed senseless. Seb wanted more than Jim could give him, and he’d been willing to listen to the sniper to a _point_. Obviously it couldn’t come to blows, but if Jim’s blood pressure was a proper gauge, it was soon to get nasty. His nostrils flared. He told Sebastian he trusted him, ah, but that had been before being backed against a wall. Though after the point that came to mind first, and left his lips in a quiet fury. “You were going to _force_ ,” the F and hiss came out prolonged, like a snake had uttered them rather than a man, “Yourself on me.” Legs lowered again, he was on the edge of his chair now, casualness abandoned. “Tell me why I should trust you with anything! outside the professional!”

“The fact I _didn't_ …” Seb hissed right back, but immediately dropped that line of thought. He shook his head, even if he thought it was a game, he should’ve stopped. “Furthermore, I’m not telling you to  _trust_ me. I’m telling you, specifically, to get a  _new_ bodyguard.” He recoiled a bit into the chair, not wanting to end up in the same situation over and over again. “Because I doubt I can say anything to change your mind on the ‘trust’ issue.”

“It’s not about what you _say_ , Sebastian, it’s about what you DO!” The shout was punctuated with a heavy slam of Jim’s fist upon the coffee table, surprising even himself. Jim was breathing hard from even that much having boiled up beneath a calm façade, as he stared his former lover down. What Sebastian did…to him. Often. Without even having to try. Goaded him. Loved him. Tempted him. Took things too far. Picked him up after contributing to his downfalls. Cared. Couldn’t accept things as they stood, had to make it difficult. Infuriating.

“And what is it I _do_ , Jim?” Sebastian asked, eyes fixed on those fiery brown ones. This was the Jim with whom he was more familiar, but Seb refused to react. Yet. Perhaps if things escalated any further, but watching Jim come unwound was one of the finer pleasures in life, even if he didn’t prefer to do it  _this_ way. “Rather. In the spirit of trying to help this along, what would you  _like_ me to do?”

The fist remained pressed to the table shifted, rolling on his wrist, knuckles grinding hard and tense against the wood. If it hurt Jim he barely noticed, locked onto Sebastian’s blue, kicked puppy eyes instead. That Seb had seen this and worse before contributed to his ability to non-react, but his calm only raised Jim’s ire. “Maybe I’d trust you more! If you quit fucking pushing it. I’d like you. To accept what’s happened. Seems every ten minutes you’re trying to get a rise out of me. Just accept! That that isn’t how it’s going to go anymore! That I won’t be called Boss and shoved around for an attempt at a thrill in the same minute! I don’t! Want it!”

“Ohhhkay,” Seb replied, voice still light and airy, keeping his face as still as reasonably possible. But couldn’t fight the tiniest of smiles slipping through. “I accept it, _sir_ , anything else?”

That Jim had loosened some fury clouded his mind, made him forget important things like keeping a physical distance. Sebastian’s calm and smirking did not amuse. Jim reared up from the chair, and had a hand balled around the fabric of Seb’s collar before he knew it. Nobody should be allowed to scare him, not this brawny twat or any other. “Say that like you fucking mean it, Sebastian.”

Seb took a deep breath, Jim’s proximity a bit intimidating. The hand on his collar was nothing new, Jim had smacked him around before, roughed him up, whatever, it was all the same. “I’m not going to say it again,” he said, voice firm, but not quite angry yet. Still, he could see the escalation in Jim’s mind, in his actions, and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his calm much longer if he wanted to escape mostly unscathed.

Jim was leaning partially over him with an overall look not unlike an enraged bull, one that had charged out of the proverbial china shop and taken its true nature to the streets. This close, he had an even better view of the mark on Sebastian’s neck, and it was offensive to see. A mark on Seb that he himself hadn’t made. It wasn’t right, even if it was fair, and the wrongness caught him off-guard. He was doing, here, exactly what he’d tried not to. What he’d just told Seb he didn’t want. What led to trouble or a hard fuck, historically. But Sebastian wasn’t taking it seriously enough, and that was not acceptable; Jim was still the boss. And losing his own fight for calm. Shit. Sneering, wordless, Jim released him with a shove, standing and turning his back on the other. Having to accept not a win or a lose, but a tie.

“Aww, lost your spit, Jim?” Sebastian taunted, straightening out his shirt, standing up as he did so. “Always suspected you’d be a coward under all that bark.” He shrugged. Just remembering he was still holding a lit cigarette. He took a long drag, exhaling heavily as he pushed past Jim to tap out the ash on the table.

“SHUT UP.” Curl, loud, Jim’s hands squeezing the backs of his elbows as he tried to contain it all again. Frustration from every angle. Aggravation emanating in waves around him. He grit his teeth. He could do this without Seb’s involvement, couldn’t he? Bring himself back down, settle for all of nothing solved, breathe…Not daring to look at Sebastian, lest a whole new wave of it be inspired by just the sight of the man. Think of…of Sherlock. Ensuring there was nothing to lie about. But lies could be so fun, a little voice seemed to say…Sherlock could even punish him for them…But wouldn’t, no, he’d just break them up instead. Jim’s breath came out shakily.

Seb took another long drag, considering his options. “Or else what, boss?” he asked, sounding almost bored despite his guts tying into knots. “You’ll send me on another vacation?”

“I DON’T….know,” Jim finished lamely. Jim’s hand rose to the front of his hair and gripped. Breathe. Funny, that when he told himself this, he heard it in Sebastian’s voice. “Don’t know what possessed me to think we could handle…any of this,” he lamented, words a low mumble.

“The fact that you  _never_ think things through?” Seb laughed hollowly, stubbing out the cigarette in the tray. “Well, in your personal life.” He turned, facing Jim, gently folding his arms around the smaller man. “But I forgive you. Always.”

Jim’s eyes closed at the embrace, a shuddering sigh against Sebastian’s chest. He didn’t deserve the forgiveness, but needed it. As much as Seb needed his, Jim figured, for those very few times he’d Royally Fucked Up. Slowly Jim’s arms brushed the bigger man’s sides, winding around to his back. Absolutely safe. Trust wasn’t a question, it didn’t bear thinking about, it was just true. It felt weak to sink into this moment as much as he wanted to, but Sebastian knew well how weak Jim could be. He should’ve said thanks and tried to, but what came out was simply, softly, tiredly, “Tiger…”

Seb brought a hand up, threading it through Jim’s hair as he rested his chin on the top of his head. This wasn’t terrible. Certainly better than provoking an attack, even if there was lingering anger beneath the surface. It was…stupid. All of it. He’d never stop thinking it. For Christ’s sake, he and Jim fucked up all the time. But again and again, they forgave each other. He doubted Sherlock would extend that much understanding. Seemed…dangerous.

Jim inhaled slowly, deeply, getting a fresh new reminder of the traces of Ms. Teen Beat Magazine – at least he assumed and hoped a Ms. rather than Mr., god – but beneath it Sebastian’s cologne and sweat. Familiar. More soothing than it had any right to be, and worked like a charm. Couldn’t last, of course. Jim should slip out of it but couldn’t yet bring himself to quite yet. His breathing had slowed and quieted, fury abating. Such a simple solution to so many problems on the table. They probably should have greeted each other like this, but were too blind to see that fact. Jim was glad for the weight of Sebastian’s chin; kept him from looking up, meeting his eyes just now. Who knew what could be found in them. “I should go,” he murmured but made no move to. He’d stayed to make sure Sebastian was alright after his shock, and things had escalated so. Wasn’t this a far better note on which to end his little visit?

Oh, yes. This couldn’t last. Still, it was a sting to have Jim remind him of it. “Yeah, probably,” Sebastian murmured, still not wanting to let go. But neither, it seemed, did Jim. Yet. This wasn’t sustainable. Something had to give in. All of this could be put simplistically, of course. A typical, almost boring case of a love triangle. Except all the participants were brutal or geniuses, or in Jim’s case,a  precarious balance of both. Ingredients for hurtling towards disaster, yet Seb couldn’t bring himself to extricate his side from the inevitable impact. No. He was too stubborn for that. “Boss…” he whispered, gently pulling Jim’s head back, bringing his hand to his chin, gently tilting it up and capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

Jim felt what was coming a mile off, and let it happen. Because hey, everyone deserved a goodbye kiss, right? Lips pursing gently against Sebastian’s, Jim consoled and tormented himself simultaneously with the idea of finality. They were breathing it into each other, and the sweetness of it made his chest tighten. It lasted a short eternity, and seemed to speak volumes neither ever could. His hand moved up to press at Sebastian’s warm one, then squeeze it lightly as he broke slowly away. Jim’s eyes were huge and shining, lips a faltering frown of a smile. “I should go,” he repeated in a whisper, firm despite its volume, his hands slipping away from Sebastian’s own and side. He sympathized entirely with the hurt in the sniper’s eyes, but didn’t know how to help, and had to look away, had to start to step back, to make his way to an exit he knew some part of himself might always regret.

Sebastian sighed as Jim broke away. Part of him applauded his self-control, to the levels he could never exercise himself. “Yeah. Probably,” he repeated in soft agreement, letting him go. It’d get worse. Progressively building until he couldn’t take it anymore. But. Until then, he still had a job to do. Running a hand through his hair, gripping it to give himself some anchor into the present, “See you Wednesday, I guess.”

Jim could only hope Sebastian knew it wasn’t easy, turning his back. Wasn’t easy to start walking to the door. Wasn’t easy to put a hand to the knob and start to turn it. But it was just the point he had to make, and a gentler way of doing it than other attempts so far. Jim licked his lips, blinking, and facing the door just nodded. He might call that day, or email, or text. Seeing was…almost too much. Jim opened the door a crack, turning back to look at Seb , and nodded. “…Yeah…” Jim swallowed and knew that if he didn’t go now, he might not at all. “Have a good night.” As if that was likely. Jim looked down at his hand on the knob and opened the door further. _For what it's worth, I'm sorry_ , he thought in Sebastian's direction as he saw himself out.


	4. Sheriarty - fluff, smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Sheriarty
> 
> contents: texts, banter, fluff, first visit to Jim's flat, first-time-y smut
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> This immediately follows the last MorMor-centric chapter.

Hey, curlylocks. -JM

Good evening. Am I supposed to give you a cheeky nickname as well? -SH

An amusing prospect but not necessary. Can't help but wonder what it'd be, though. -JM

I'm sure I'd think of something. But can't rush it. -SH

Wondering if you wanted to come to mine tonight. -JM

To your flat? What do I owe the honor? -SH

I'd say the invitation's overdue. -JM

I thought so, but I wasn't going to press. -SH

If you're not otherwise busy I'd like to see you, and had a day worth summarizing. -JM

Sure. Give me a moment to wrap up here. -SH

Case? -JM

Experiment. -SH

22 Trevor Square. Penthouse. Doorbell says Kepler. -JM

As in Johannes? You are a fountain of astronomy references, aren't you? -SH

Very good, Sherlock. -JM

I'm trying to study up. I'll be there soon. -SH

-

It was a display of trust - or a test. If Jim couldn't trust Sherlock as much as he did Seb, he'd know it. But there were other reasons. Loneliness. Confessing what little there was to confess. Bringing Sherlock here because Seb already had a girlfriend, so why not change the energy of what had been their home? It did strike him that it might not be _safe_ , but he had to dream a little bigger than that - and knew if an untimely return was made, what Sebastian would see might hurt to point of paralysis. So, safe it was, or so Jim had to trust. He didn't do much tidying, for not much was needed, but did close and lock the door to what had served as Seb's space: some weapons, closet, small office, even Jim didn't want to see it just now. A bottle of zinfandel struck his fancy, though he wasn't sure there was much to be celebrating.  Sherlock might see it that way, the score of reachable territory finally being balanced. He'd have to wait and see. Focusing on Sherlock's immediate arrival helped take his mind of all else. He put Liszt on the sound system, turning down the fancy speakers to a bearable volume, and strove to ignore the touch of dread that came with waiting.

-

It was certainly odd. Sherlock had suspected there were reasons Jim didn't invite him over, and he didn't mind - he figured he might accidentally deduce something about Jim's work. And no one wanted that. Meanwhile, Sherlock liked Baker Street.  Made him feel safe. Oh.  _Oh._ It suddenly hit him what tonight might mean. Jim was trusting him with his real address. His home. Which was...Well. Terrifying to both of them. Sherlock breathed deeply. Resolving trust issues. Sex...Tonight then? Alright.  Sherlock nodded, getting out of his chair, putting his coat on, throwing his scarf over his neck and hailing a cab. It was a quick ten minute drive, and a long elevator ride up. He stood at the door of the penthouse for a full five minutes before knowing.

-

Jim could have spent this night alone, true enough. Sebastian hadn't agitated him so badly that it would be much more than fitful sleeping, at least he told himself so. Seeing Sherlock ruled out having to wander too far down that road of possibility altogether. And if he was going to report to Sherlock all relevant things, texts were too fraught with misunderstanding. At the knock, Jim was drawn from his thoughts by reality, the imminent whatever it would be. Checking the peephole first, Jim then slid three locks open, and couldn't help smiling faintly as he looked Sherlock over, not quite believing he was here. "Well. Welcome to my not-so-humble abode." He stepped back enough to let Sherlock into the white-walled, art-peppered finely furnished sacred space.

-

Under normal circumstances, Sherlock's eyes would've immediately darted about the place, drinking in every drop of information he could.  But this wasn't a typical scenario, nor was he here on business, so his gaze was only focused on Jim. "Certainly less than humble, but I couldn't picture you any other way," he answered Jim's smile with his own as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it behind the door, before pulling Jim into a gentle hug. "I missed you."

-

Jim loved watching Sherlock slide out of the coat. Like a masterpiece being revealed in one smooth motion, drawing his eye over lines and curves as surely as if Botticelli had formed them with such intentions. The hug surprised him a little though it shouldn't have, and Jim retruned it with a nuzzle against Sherlock's ever-irresistible neck. But had he actively missed Sherlock enough to return the sentiment? His focus had been elsewhere. On...business matters. Didn't change the fact that it was all  _for_ Sherlock, though, and Jim replied in a happy hum, almost forgetting the rest. "Aren't you sweet," he murmured, raising his head to look at the other, hands on Sherlock's hips. "Make yourself comfortable. There's wine if you'd like?"

-

Sherlock blinked. Hm. Well. He supposed he was. But like most of his statements, missing Jim was just true. "Ah, no, thank you," he shook his head, kissing the corner of Jim's mouth as he wound his arms tighter around his waist. "I'm fine for now."

-

Sherlock's nearness was therapeutic and purely good, two descriptors for anything that rarely interested Jim but at the moment, the best reminder of why he'd left Sebastian's. He was relieved, really, in how he'd handled things. Almost...proud of himself. Maybe there  _was_ cause to celebrate, he merely needed his other half's presence to lift the residual gloom. Liszt twinkled dreaming in the background as his arms wrapped around Sherlock's slim waist in turn. He had to be out with it, now or later, and if Sherlock kissed him much more he'd say to hell with the aforementioned summary...but this was lovely. Sherlock's open top button was amply distracting, but if he stole kisses, and Sherlock ended up angry with him later, he could only be seen as the worst kind of opportunist. "Have to talk to you, darling, we should sit."

-

Sherlock nodded, pressing another soft kiss to Jim's mouth. "Alright. You can show me around your lavish lodgings afterward." He disengaged himself from the hug but entwined their fingers as he walked to the living room, leading them both onto the sofa.

-

Jim realized he'd very much enjoy doing so - some of the paintings were expensive and sort of...well, Privately Collected sounded better than Stolen, didn't it? Sherlock really was making himself comfortable, Jim mused, following rather than leading the way. His nerves were secretly abuzz. They'd been tugged this way and that tonight already, and he did fear what Sherlock might think. Still, what a thing to have him _here_ , in his _home_. God, Seb would hate it so much if knew. It shouldn't have made him smile but it did, as he curled up near to Sherlock, resting his head on his shoulder, eyes on their interlocked fingers. "I saw Sebastian today," he started, wondering if he'd be able to  _feel_ any reaction rather than see it.

-

Sherlock's thoughts instantly took a turn for the worst. "Saw? In what way?" Of course his extensive imagination, usually geared toward solving morbid crimes, went to potential infidelity. Or... Well... "...And  _why_ do you smell like the perfume spread in Seventeen magazine?" Only so many reasons  _that_ could happen, but he doubted Moran was a subscriber.

-

Jim would have done anything to reassure Sherlock even as the carefully measured question left those pretty lips. But the next question made him groan incredulously, a chuckle shaking his chest. "Oh. _God_." Gross, it had stuck to him! Tilting his head up, Jim found a most bewildered Sherlock, and it lightened his mood considerably. He'd never seen anything more adorable in his life. Jim rolled his eyes, sitting up more, attempting to regain sobriety of expression but the words had a sing-song edge: "Basher's got a girlfriend now." But then he realized that didn't exactly answer Sherlock's question and visibly jolted, rushing to fix that. "Oh! Darling, no, no, no, just a hug." And the kiss, but he'd come to that. Needed Sherlock to un-worry, first.

-

Sherlock snorted. "What? She just finish school?" A hug. Alright. That wasn't a problem, and it was difficult to stay mad, or unnerved, with Jim smelling faintly of candy floss and bubblegum. He leaned in, relaxing against him once more.

-

The fact of some young, probably dumb, tight, nubile little thing getting free Sebastian rides...was funnier when Sherlock thought it so, but only just. "Entirely possible," Jim said smoothly, a hand coming up to play with Sherlock's curls absently as he looked away, biting his lip. He sighed, hoping he'd earn points or at least not lose any, for honesty. "A kiss, too," Jim admitted. "His initiative. Undoubtedly just saying...goodbye." He shrugged. "And then I left. Went for business reasons and that's where it stays." 

-

Sherlock bit his lip. For a moment, yes, anger was certainly there. Even if unwarranted. Illogical. It clearly meant nothing significant, except for what he wanted, an end to the relationship. Still. It took a moment to reclaim his mind from the base, intellectually undignified instincts. "It's alright," Sherlock said, but unease had returned to his body, muscles clenching tightly.

-

Jim was watching him carefully now, and felt the tension as soon as it occurred. He sighed. "You... _can_ be angry, you know, I fully expected that. But...if you were," Jim continued carefully, "I wouldn't really deserve it this time, compared to before. And I really,  _really_ wouldn't want you to worry, because I've made my point perfectly clear with him. I'd...sooner die than hurt you again, believe it or not."

-

That's more what he was worried about. He much preferred Jim alive and hurting him than dead and...Wwell. Just dead. "I'm  _not_ hurt," he insisted, a bit more roughly than intended. He swallowed, knitting his brows together, a bit annoyed at Jim's already defensive behavior. Usually pointed to guilt, that. "But don't tell me what you deserve,  I'll figure that out for myself. Which, if you've not noticed, I've already come to the same conclusion you have."

-

Jim's cheeks reddened slightly with embarrassment. Tripping all over himself to make sure Sherlock understood him, when he already had... "Of course," Jim muttered, glancing down. "Apologies."

-

Sherlock sighed. "Never apologize to me." Because really, it was unnecessary. Whatever Jim had to say had already crossed his mind, same in reverse. And they understood, making apologies almost...annoying. He pressed a kiss to Jim's temple. "It's fine, Jim."

-

A weak smile at the kiss, and Jim nodded. The assurance that it was fine made him want to change the topic, get them past it, but that would look like evasion all its own. It had to be Sherlock's doing. 

-

"Did you like it?" Sherlock asked, the thought suddenly popping into his mind. Even if he was afraid of the answer, he still wanted to know. 

-

The questiion sent an odd chill down Jim's back. Didn't help that the twinkly music had ended and a darker piece had begun, one of Franz's more ominous. He tilted his head to his other shoulder in thought. It was perfectly reasonable that Sherlock should ask. "I liked...that it wasn't brutal," he said softly. "Everything  _had_ been, you know, so to end on a softer note was...worth itself. But no, darling, it didn't do anything for me, if that's what you mean." The answer came thoughtfully but sans stalling.

-

"Alright..." Good enough, Sherlock supposed. Tried not to let himself think of when that would be  _him_ on Jim's chopping block. Rather, the pleasure of the present, which he'd been hopelessly ignoring thanks to the shock. But... Well, it was very nice. The music, the location, Jim being right there. "Why don't you give me the tour?"

-

The smallest of reveries, going back to that moment, but Sherlock didn't really know Jim's reveries, what they looked and sounded like. And this had been a more pleasant one than most, besides. Though he might never forgive Sseb for sticking cotton candy smell to him. Jim nodded, leaning over to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "Good plan," he said, giving the other's hand a squeeze before releasing it. Too much contact and he'd have grand ideas about the bedroom as soon as they peered into it. He rose, fully expecting Sherlock to follow, leading them away from the hall and to the state-of-the-art kitchen. It was big though he rarely cooked. An actual Picasso hung on the wall. " _I'll_ have wine, even if you won't," he declared, opening the fridge.

-

Sherlock raised his brows the second they entered the kitchen, eyes fixating on the mounted painting. "Is that the  _original_ Blue Nude?" He made a beeline for it, inspecting it, scrutinizing every punctilio. "I know Ms. Wenceslas proved you had access to brilliant forgers, but there isn't a night sky here to inform me of a missing star..." He smirked. "But knowing that the original is currently missing tells me far more than any brushwork could." His gaze flitted to Jim. "How many others here are real?"

-

In the space of the kitchen Sherlock's voice nearly echoed, and Jim's grin as he tugged the bottle out of the fridge could only be described as shit-eating. "Wouldn't you like to know," he all but sang, feeling suddenly close to giddy, latching onto the distraction Sherlock had always been, his natural high. He pulled the wine opener from a drawer and set to it, carefully but practiced, not quite able to resist a glance over Sherlock's long, lean form. Sherlock! Really here! Incredible. Worth the risk. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some, by the way? It's not poisoned."

-

Sherlock turned around, blinking slowly. "I should decline. Having my skills hampered in any way whilst I'm in such a fascinating space is practically a crime..." But then he scowled. That wasn't why he was here. Why did his mind  _always_ fly headlong back into business? Well. He couldn't help it. Jim was a mystery, an enigma even as a...significant other. The greatest he'd ever encountered, one he was continually at a disadvantage against. But...he wasn't here as a nemesis. "I suppose one glass couldn't hurt."

-

Jim's hands paused with the corkscrew, tongue flicking out against his lower lip at those words. Nothing to worry about, he reminded himself, deftly finishing up with the bottle as if he hadn't heard it at all. He turned away towards the cabinets, pulling out two glasses, and filled each halfway. Jim took them to Sherlock, looking up at him, at first curiously, as he handed one over. "Deduce all you like," he stated. Laptop was closed, after all, though he may have left lube on the nightstand, whoops. So long as Sherlock didn't go rooting through the bathroom cabinet, or anywhere he wasn't supposed to. "I like watching your brain work," Jim said, hushed, standing taller to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

-

"Mm," Sherlock hummed into the kiss, pulling back after a moment and taking the glass. "I wouldn't want to stumble into anything work-related, that'd take out half the fun." He took a sip. Oh, Jim, always having the best of everythng. "Crime really  _does_ pay..." He smiled, glancing back up at the painting.

-

"Good man," Jim awarded him lightly, for he really didn't need Sherlock peeking in on work either. With a smile he slipped to stand behind the detective, winding an arm around his waist, re-examining the painting from just over Sherlock's shoulder. "Mhmm," he agreed. Liszt could still be heard, black and as thunderous as a storm, and for a moment everything felt...right. Good, even.  He kissed Sherlock's nape. "Shall we continue the tour?"  
-

Sherlock shivered a bit from the fleeting contact to his neck. Odd, yet expected response. He should've been immune by now, but...clearly, he'd never be used to Jim's wonderful touches. "Yes. Let's."  He held out his free hand for Jim to take. 

-

It was sort of fun, really. Nobody ever came over, ever, so to show off the silly material things was a novel treat. And it did help to clear the air. Of course, some of Sebastian's things were still around, but if Jim paid them little mind, Sherlock may not give them too much thought, either. Jim raised his glass to his lips as he steered them out of the kitchen, still away from the hall. "Have the upstairs, too. Something I want to show you up there." Past the front main room, to a bookshelf. Jim smirked, and tugged at the top edge of a biography of - guess who! Kepler. He stepped back, tugging Sherlock with him, and the bookshelf swung slowly off the wall to reveal a hidden stairs. He grinned.

-

At this, Sherlock quirked a brow. "Really, Jim? Hidden staircase?" Of course, it was cool. It was cliche for a reason. But still. And the key was in the name. Cheeky, daring. Jim was showing him where he lived, as well as the secret additions. Really nothing left to hide? Or something more ominous still beneath the surface?

-

"Stereotypical, I know, but perhaps the only thing that is," Jim admitted, smiling still, and nodded in the direction of the stairs. "Go on, then," he urged, sipping. He could've led Sherlock up, but this, too, was a tiny test of trust. If Sherlock thought he killed people at home, it was a very ungentlemanly assumption. Plus, walking up the stairs behind him...had its appeal. "Be right behind," he promised, taking another sip to stifle a chuckle. He didn't want to make Sherlock nervous, he was simply excited.

-

More mind games. Figured. Jim put his trust in Sherlock to tell him where he lived, so he was supposed to trust Jim to walk blindly into his hidden attic. Knowing full well no one knew where he was, or would ever find his corpse unless Jim wanted it that way. Of course, what was life without that thought hanging over his head? Sherlock only nodded in assent, taking the steps in stride. "Observatory," he said as he arrived up top. Clearly he'd been underestimating Jim's interest in astronomy, and he'd already placed it quite high. "Very nice. But I'd still prefer a chem lab."

-

Jim was pleased when Sherlock didn't disappoint him, and even more so to follow him. _Good god, could bounce a coin off that arse_... Jim had to shake the thought off. He joined Sherlock at the top landing finally, and rolled his eyes at the comment. "Well, of course you would. We're allowed to have  _some_ differences," Jim replied. "Little sad how rarely I've the time to spend up here, but..." He toed at a loose curl of carpet fabric, shrugging. "Probably more now, living alone."

-

Grimacing at the mention, at the reminder that Sebastian had been here before him - sharing space with Jim, hobbies, stupid moments flatmates and lovers had - Sherlock turned his attentions to a constellation map of Ursinus. He still had very little interest in stars, or what humans did to label them in some significant clusters. But he had every interest in Jim and what tickled his fancy. "Why space? It seems so...irrelevant."

-

Jim sipped again, rotating the glass so the liquid rolled, and took no offense to Sherlock's comment. "Loved it since I was a kid. When you're very bored with what's here, it's intriguing to consider what else might be. And as I...made myself, as it were, it made everything a little easier. What's one person, you know, or a car full of people, or a plane, or a bombed-out building, or anything that happens to anyone, compared to the sheer vastness up there?" Jim had the blank but passionate expression of a philosopher, for once not focusing on Sherlock despite being in his presence. "So, really, no, you've got it backwards. We're the irrelevant ones." He killed the rest of the wine, putting a hand to Sherlock's lower back. "But all the same..." He led Sherlock to one chart, and poked a fingertip at one tiny dot among thousands. "This one, here? I put money into that. NASA does it, it's sort of silly, but. I named it after you."

-

"Entirely silly," Sherlock agreed, quickly taking a sip from his glass to hide the smirk and quickly forming blush. The idea Jim had thought of him enough to do something like that...People never did things like that for him. He would have to return the favor somehow, as some lasting testament to the fact Jim was hardly ever off his mind. "You certainly know how to flatter a man."

-

Jim didn't bother pointing out the dot right next to it, the one named Moriarty. So that even after they were long gone, there was still something eternal with their names that would always be...well, relatively close. Until space expanded and pushed them lightyear after lightyear away - but that would take a very long time, and Jim didn't like thinking about it. He smiled tightly, trying not to let it get to him that Sherlock didn't seem all that impressed. It wasn't just flattery. He wanted to say, _You're eternal to me_ , but thought the better of it, giving Sherlock a long glance, noting the color in his cheeks. That would have to be enough. "I'm sure the telescope would bore you to death. We can go back downstairs."

-

"I'm sorry our interests don't always line up,"  Sherlock lamented. Really, he was trying. But it all came back to the work. Where Sherlock's was more concrete, working only with the presented evidence, Jim's line was more imaginative. That of a dreamer. Sherlock, meanwhile, had to box himself into what was immediately relevant, lest he miss vital clues. In an uncharacteristic moment of sentiment, however, he lifted a hand to Jim's chin. "But. Our interest in each other is all that matters right now." He gave a small yet genuine smile, eyes shining like the brightest of stars.

-

Jim was going to say he wasn't sorry, for it meant they maybe had things to teach each other yet - damned if he wouldn't get Sherlock to look through that telescope someday - but arguably they were already teaching each other a whole lot. Things they'd never admitted to wanting or needing to know. The truth of Sherlock's statement...It was  _all_ that mattered, and that Sherlock seemed to feel it, too, meant much. That blush Sherlock liked teasing Jim about may have been creeping up again; apparently losing himself in those eyes was enough to bring it on. His hand moved to curl over the top of Sherlock's wrist, thumb brushing the soft skin of the inside. This beauty would just be the death of him someday, he was sure of it. "I'm very fond of you, Sherlock Holmes," Jim said, shifting a little nearer.

-

Sherlock was momentarily stunned, mind dully registering that if Jim moved his thumb at all, he'd feel his throttling pulse. He needed a distraction, a proper one. And as always, Jim was quick to deliver a solution. He set the wine glass on a nearby shelf, takintg the other side of Jim's jaw, whole face now cupped in his hands. He took a moment to admire Jim, the fullness of his lips, well-attended brows, the curve of his eyelashes...Oh, what a gift it was to be able to hold and kiss this face, attached to possibly the most alluring person in history. Sherlock began with a soft, slow kiss, but quickly turned hungrier, his very blood demanding more.

-

Sherlock looked at everyone coldly, scientifically, but not Jim.  There was wonder in his gaze that made the criminal's heart beat double-time. He wasn't being studied in the usual sense - he was being adored, by the very same he'd adored so long. The brush of lips made him shiver, the wine glass drop carelessly, caught safely by the plush carpet. No shattering here, no pain. His hands moved up Sherlock's arms, palm sliding over just enough muscle, not too much. His lips parted and Jim moaned softly at the first sweep of tongue, letting Sherlock devour him. Jim's grip tightened after seconds of it, his body already displaying the beginnings of real interest, emotions not pushed away but conspiring with the physical to make it beautiful, make it right.

-

A whole host of weakness flooded the detective's body. Sentiment. Elation. Desire, which still wasn't completely at home within him. Fleeting, impossible scenarios in which they'd be together for years. Too much significance for some mundane gesture that really boiled down to sharing saliva. And it was.  Too much. Overwhelming his senses with delight, Sherlock felt dizzy on it. Gasping, he broke away, madly trying to catch his breath, losing it anew once he saw Jim in a similar state.

-

Jim hadn't wanted that to end so soon, the sweet wildness of it, but he wouldn't push. No. What Sherlock needed wasn't pushing, but sensation. Jim couldn't resist reattaching his lips at the first opportunit, leaning in to lick a strip up Sherlock's neck. Affection and Want ruled him. "Beautiful," he admired aloud, voice dropped to a velvety purr. "You're a good kisser..." Hands on Sherlock's waist, he nudged them closer, letting Sherlock feel the effect he'd had. "Kisses...heat...wanting...it's all good..." His devious tongue lapped slowly over Sherlock's ear.

-

"I..." Oh, no. A familiar haze was falling over his eyes, marinating and frying his brain. Eloquence was the farthest thing from his mind as Jim drew him closer. Stupid mouth. Stupid tongue. Yet...completely brilliant. Mercilessly dragging him into this wanton state. "Jim..." Sherlock moaned softly, arms lacing around his waist, instinctively drawing him closer, forms pressed flush against each other as he continued to pant.  Good. Yes. Trusting Jim with his body as he let his brain malfunction.

-

The only thing more gorgeous than Sherlock hard at work, was Sherlock getting hard for Jim. It was a factor unknown to Sherlock that this attic space had never been christened by he and Sebastian. Jim knew, though, and it was a heady realization. Full of potential. The sound of his name on Sherlock's lips made him melt inside, sent a hot flare from his abdomen outward. Jim kissed him again, brain beginning to reel and shut down, passion in it. If it happened here he'd have to go downstairs for some things anyway, but he started to walk them slowly backwards to the day bed, even as the kisses made his head swim.

-

Sherlock's sympathetic nervous system seemed to take over, running completely on cues and chemistry, rather than any real consideration. He stepped back in time with Jim's commanding nudges, finding himself sitting on the edge of the mattress. Gripping him by the collar, he pulled the smaller man close, not letting their lips part for more than a moment. Eyes shut, his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out any sense that weren't immediately involved in _this_. What did he need those for, anyway? He couldn't remember, skin on fire, his only reprieve the kisses.  And even that only brought the desire back, stronger each time.

-

Jim breathed a dazed laugh into the kiss, landing with a growl of surprise, one knee on either side of  Sherlock's legs, both falling back with the addition of Jim's weight. He pressed his thigh close between the other's, breaking the kiss to breathe. His thoughts were getting ahead of himself, for sure, and that wasn't exactly the wisest course. He wanted to overwhelm Sherlock the right way, not go overboard, a hand tugging shirt from trousers, fingertips dancing across Sherlock's abdomen and up his chest. The sight of his parted lips was giving Jim ideas, all of them unbearably delicious.  He wondered whether Sherlock could still think. "What's the atomic number for Dysprosium?" Jim tested in a murmur, smiling deviously before taking Sherlock's hand and bringing it to his own mouth, drawing in one fingertip and sucking lightly, watching Sherlock's reactions.

-

"Ah..." Sherlock tried to answer, but was horribly distracted by Jim sucking at his finger. His mind wandered to where else that mouth might be better u- wait. What was it? Metal, obviously. Solid at room temperature. But these were obvious. Somewhere, he knew. Where was it? "Sixty..."  he breathed. Close.  Almost there. "Sixty-six..." Much better but his stomach was still flipping, blood rushing to just under his navel. "Didn't...know there was a text," he gave a breathless laugh, cut off by spikes of arousal. He didn't like giving up control, but  _needed_ Jim not to stop. This wasn't fair at all.

-

Jim's eyes were glittering. _Attaboy._ He flicked his tongue against the fingertip before releasing it. "Just making sure you're still with me, honey," he all but crooned, but it was breathy, and he secretly thought Sherlock's wits could be slowed further. Still, the laughter was such rich music after the evening's earlier trials. Jim made a gentle nudge backwards, reaching up to cradle the back of Sherlock's head almost lovingly as he urged him to lay flat on the bed, leaning in to capture his lips again, passion spiking. The grind of hips drew a low and sudden, desperate sound from Jim, nearly a whimper. God, but he wanted Sherlock every way at once, could hardly decide where to begin.

-

Sherlock nodded feebly before he threw himself back into the thick of it. Oh, this would get dangerous very quickly. He hadn't noticed how terribly his mind had clouded just by _this_. Sherlock rolled his hips to meet Jim's, groaning shamefully, both from the delightful pressure and that plaintive little noise the criminal made. Somehow, it was still surprising to hear him be anything less than strictly controlled (or conversely, an emotional fireball.) He threaded a hand into Jim's hair, the other dipping under the back of his shirt, running a hand over his skin.

-

Jim trembled at the touches, especially the one that sent heat creeping up his back. Christ, but they were dropping IQ points left and right, and the sounds Sherlock was making made Jim dizzy, each a victory and enticement and dream rolled into one. "Overdressed," he pointed out between slips and glides of tongue, hand reaching down to tug at Sherlock's belt, breaking off to graze his teeth hungrily along his neck. "Want you in my mouth..." Among other places, but oh, it seemed a good place to start.

-

Sherlock's breath hitched. _No. It's okay. Relax. Natural progression of events._ After a moment of panic, heart still racing, he lifted his hips, squirming out of his trousers after his belt was loosened.

-

It was not the easiest task in the world, shifting his body away from the pressure of Sherlock's. But it would slow things down, when they'd been spiraling out of control, and this deserved...savoring. Jim settled so that he lay on his stomach but still within reach of  Sherlock's hands, face hovering just over pale hips and midsection, tongue resting on his lower lip as Sherlock's long legs were exposed inch by inch. Jim placed a soft kiss to one smooth hipbone, palm sliding warm along calf, knee, thigh, almost like gentling a skittish horse. He didn't mean to tease - and yet, he really did. It wouldn't take Sherlock begging, of course; Jim was already leaning down, ghosting hot breath over the remaining fabric. "Beautiful..." He shifted his own hips, trying to get more comfortable before easing Sherlock's pants down and indulging in a long lick upwards. Not facing Sherlock, he couldn't watch the reactions, but knew that might be easier, and Jim would hear the most important ones anyway. The thought made him smirk as he circled a hand around Sherlock's length, and finally parted his lips over the tip. 

-

Usually, Sherlock would protest the 'beautiful' comment. He knew that he didn't fit the traditional standards of beauty - too skinny, too pale, all sharp points and angles. However, since it was Jim, he suspected this comment was more than skin-deep, referring as much to the intellect as the body. That, and any protest his lust-drowned mind might've come up with immediately died in his throat as he felt warm lips begin to encompass him, not at all helping the desperate burning. Whatever did escape his mouth sounded a lot like a gurgling high-pitched squeak, as if someone were strangling a mouse. If he'd had any presence of mind left, he'd be quite embarrassed. Instead, he let his hands tangle in Jim's hair, seeking any kind of contact, stopping just short of shoving him further down.

-

Sherlock had been reaping the benefits of Jim's talents for many years, but this was a new one. The sound made him smile, the hands in his hair not frantic or pushy but certainly likely to become so if Jim took this too slow. Which he was doing, easing down further at a purposely excruciating pace. When his lips met the side of his own hand, he sucked just as slowly back up, the flat of his tongue sliding wetly, the trip of it tracing over veins. Pursing his lips and swirling his tongue around the tip, Jim let saliva gather before dipping down again, moaning deeply in appreciation for the fun it was, having Sherlock at his mercy.

-

Sherlock's brain had blown a fuse. It must've.  Neurons imploding in on themselves as they released a constant stream of hormones. He gave a whine, somewhere between pleasure and discontent. It was amazing, of course. But it wasn't enough. Already he was being pulled to the edge, his body resembling symptoms of stress, yet...Beautiful. Addictive. "Jim," he panted. "More..."

-

The plea made Jim shift his hips only to grind back down against the mattress; hearing Sherlock so eager was just...good, so good, like auditory flames licking at him. His free hand drifted up beneath Sherlock shirt, blindly sweeping over warm skin; pulse racing but Jim could feel it against his tongue, too, as he repeated the moves but a touch more rapidly. There was a real urge to simply consume his lover any way he could, hand releasing the base only to caress the crease of Sherlock's thigh with his thumb, and swallow carefully but purposefully, constricting around  Sherlock, when he felt a nudge at his throat.

-

Sherlock was heaving breaths. It was unlike anything he'd felt before, and even if his brain  _could_ work, he doubted he would have any real comparisons.  Fire. Ants crawling under his skin. Blood rushing through him at an ungodly pace to accommodate his overworking organs, like he was running a full marathon. He began to squirm under Jim, every little touch pure bliss and torture, bucking his hips up slightly in desperation for more friction.

-

It'd have been altogether _too_ cruel to pin Sherlock's hips so Jim didn't, hands continuing to map chest and inner thigh, fingers stopping at a hard nipple to give it a light tweak. He couldn't keep up with the act of swallowing too often, but breathing through his nose did indulge Sherlock in faster movements, Jim's mouth slick and hot around him, cheeks hollowing when he sucked on an upward slide. His tongue curved skillfully, trailing the underside, groaning around him, indication enough that acting was as good as being acted upon to Jim, considering being this close to Sherlock was some version of heaven. His hand raised further, fingers brushing accidentally between the perfect halves of Sherlock's arse before curving them forward, rolling warm weight lightly against Jim's palm.

-

It was hard to process. Somehow, Jim seemed to take him continual notches above his perceived threshold. Whenever he reached his next standard of impossible,  Jim managed to push past it. But the repeated swallowing, the lovely touches to his buzzing skin, with the increased speed proved too much. He felt much like the elastic of a slingshot, tension building as he was stretched back, ready to be let go at any moment. "C-close," he whimpered, instinctively warning Jim, tugging at his hair.

-

Smirking inwardly, Jim relished the warning, and considering it something of a triumph, ignored it. Either counting on Sherlock's refractory period being short or simply not caring whether it was, Jim couldn't think that far, only push forth in the name of passion, and turning off Sherlock's brain off entirely. What a treat that would be, and warning was better than none. He sucked on a rise up, catching a breath back down, finding it useful when he could feel Sherlock spasm on his tongue, feel the tremor in his limbs. His ragged nails raked down Sherlock's chest, mouth moving with new vigor, eager for the moment Sherlock lost control.

-

It didn't take long. Sherlock struggled a bit. Somewhere unconsciously he wanted _more_ , but he didn't have anywhere near the wherewithal to put up any real resistance. As he felt Jim's fingernails reach his hips, all his hairs stood on end, the tension coiling in an increasing crescendo, releasing violently in a smashing climax, muscles singing as they were freed. Almost in the same instant he let out a gurgled scream, fingers clenching roughly into Jim's hair, hips grinding against his face desperately.

-

Nobody would call Jim a sympathetic being, exactly, but he would have sworn his body was tied to Sherlock's in an indefinable way; the build, the tensing wire, the final snap, all making delicious heat flood forcefully through him even as he struggled some not to choke. Always a surprising feeling, that blast at the back of the throat, but Jim took it in stride, loving the roughness too though it was harder to breathe. His lips moved up Sherlock's length an inch so he could swallow without further complications, barely tasting it for how far back it had hit his tongue, and only once Sherlock's hips had stopped pushing slowly slipped his mouth off. Eyes dazed, lips reddened, he kissed Sherlock's hipbone then navel, grinning lazily.

-

So many feelings. The burn had subsided, replaced by a soothing warmth as his body pulsed out the remainder of the tension, leaving Sherlock with only the blissful calm and flood of oxytocin. He wanted some word to describe it. Anything at all to convey to Jim just how wonderful it was. He peeled his eyes open, realizing he'd screwed them shut. Looking down at Jim he had to shudder - a completely disheveled Jim, fresh off doing something quite illicit. Beautiful. Sherlock let out a shaky breath, tugging Jim up into his arms. He meant to whisper something sweet or grateful in his ear. But in his current state of disarray, all he managed was a breathless, "Wow..."

-

Well, that was high praise: Sherlock near speechless. Jim chuckled, turning his head enough to kiss him lightly. "You really fucked my hair up, didn't you," he accused fondly, all too aware of its predilection for sticking up madly in too many directions. His leg wound over Sherlock's, still-clothed erection pressing into his lover's hip, and while he'd have liked to let Sherlock recover couldn't help kissing him again.

-

No part of Sherlock's brain was yet functioning properly. Even if he felt a little exposed, he assumed it was yet another test. Besides. The rest was a perfect follow-up to a feeling so intense, burning so hot: Jim's reassuring weight on top of him, his warmth, soft kisses. Then, as if it had a mind of its own, one hand slithered between them, unable to help but palm the attractive bulge in Jim's trousers.  
-

It was magic, seeing Sherlock smile like that. Seeing him at such peace, sans all concern. It almost distracted from his own pressing issue until Sherlock reminded him, a soft, "Oh," falling from his lips. If the lust had dissipated in importance for even a moment it was rearing again now, teeth dragging across his lower lip, hips pushing towards the heat. "Going to help me with that?" he asked, amusement in his tone, more curiosity than demand.

-

"Ah...Suppose it is my turn," Sherlock said, finding just how quickly his anxiety could burrow through his post-orgasmic high. It's not that he didn't  _want_ to, he certainly did, if only to see Jim unravel in such a way. No, it was still that he didn't know  _what_ to do, and was sure he'd be awful at it, already feeling his gag reflex tense up at the thought. Still, he nodded, gently rolling them so that their positions were reversed. For a split second he considered covering himself, but decided against, letting his trousers drop to the floor as he fumbled with Jim's belt. _It's no different than usual,_ he tried to assure himself.

-

Was it the phrasing, or a shift in Sherlock's face? Maybe both. Jim's hand gently stopped Sherlock's in its tracks, then rose to lift his chin. Oh, he could hardly believe he was really saying this, certain he might come to kick his own arse for it later - but this wasn't Seb, this was Sherlock, and as much as Jim wanted those pretty lips around him... _God_...his eyebrows rose, dark eyes searching blue. "It wasn't a question you  _have_ to say yes to, dearest. Hm? I love your hands. I don't want you doing anything just because it's your _turn_..." Jim's tone was light but in truth the worst - historically, Sherlock wasn't always great with saying the right thing - were very nearly worrisome in this circumstance. Not enough to hamper his arousal any, but...

-

Sherlock licked his lips, averting his gaze as best as he could while still in Jim's grasp. "I know I don't have to agree to anything..." He scowled a bit at his own clunky, formal speech. "I want to. But. What I mean to convey is...Apologies. In advance." He was blushing again, if only the lightest of pink tints. "I'll try my best, but I'm aware my own skills are...Lacking. Especially following  _that_ performance." Blah, blah, blah, there went his frontal lobe again, throwing out long-winded, needlessly proper sentences as a defense mechanism.

-

Just seeing Sherlock's tongue peek out drew Jim's attention, and he smiled. Relieved, really, as he let his fingers caress pinkened cheek. Sherlock might or might not be good at it; the effects he had on Jim without even trying, were intense and many. "You're very impressive, Sherlock," Jim assured him, trying to suppress the smile so that the other didn't think he was being laughed at. The man was just so...dear. And that he  _wanted_ to try meant the world. And fuck, that pretty mouth... Jim had to catch his breath, refocus on Sherlock's eyes. "I certainly won't stop you."  He undid his belt and slipped it away himself with a satisfying whoosh, dropping it on the floor.

-

Sherlock cringed a bit as the belt fell. No excuses, and a blaring testament to his own failure. However, it gave him renewed energy, false confidence of a sort, trying to regain his title for being good at everything. Still. Having someone around to witness his own failed attempts was heartily embarrassing. But there wasn't really a way to practice this skill alone. He pressed another kiss to Jim's lips as he let his fingers unbutton and unzip - easy enough. Swallowing thickly, suddenly finding it a bit difficult to catch his breath, Sherlock kissed Jim's neck in passing as he crawled down, beginning to tug away Jim's trousers and pants.

-

As intently watchful as ever, there was no figure large enough to have paid Jim to look away. Sherlock's lovely hands at work, despite whatever sliver of hesitation may have remained. Sherlock did seem determined, and Jim had entertained daydreams time and again of this. That they'd be coming true was surreal, clinging to the last few moments of anticipation as he wriggled his hips to assist. Jim wasn't shameless per se, but things with Sherlock were still new and exciting, and he still believed they could up and cease if either stopped to think too long. He lifted his arm behind his head, just enough a tilt to have a good view of Sherlock's gorgeous face, relieved to be free of constraining clothing. His free hand ran encouragingly through lustrous curls, murmuring something barely audible about Sherlock's loveliness in general.

-

Sherlock nervously bit down on his bottom lip as he drew Jim's pants away, dropping them to the floor. Okay. Prospect still intimidating, but less so. Of course he'd seen Jim's cock before, and it was lovely, appealing in ways he hadn't expected his studious brain to respond to. Christ, he was still putting it off! He wrapped his hand around the base, leaning forward as he put his tongue to slowly lapping over the tip, letting himself adjust to the feeling and taste, gauging Jim's reactions in the background.

-

That the times he and Sherlock got around to physicality were few, was one factor. That Jim had been going without  Sebastian, was another. Having had only the mattress to rut against while seeing to Sherlock, plus those, made even the first touches seem so necessary. Jim's face felt flush, the sight of Sherlock's tongue making his eyelids flutter, the caress of it making his own rest lazily on his lower lip as he watched, entranced. Overheated, certainly, and struggling to hold back, eyes on Sherlock's mouth, Want the prime impulse. No sense of victory as he'd had when the tables were turned - more barely-concealed need, breath catching in Jim's throat.

-

Nothing wrong with it so far. By the darkening hue on Jim's face, he must've been doing something right. But not nearly enough, if those hungry eyes and his own experience told him anything. Well. There didn't seem to be anything more except to do it. He parted his lips further, letting about the first quarter of the length in, just stopping short of his throat. He experimented with sucking and tracing at it more with his tongue, still wary, but enjoying the priceless look on Jim's face as he let his eyes travel upwards.

-

Jim exhaled in a stutter as Sherlock's mouth closed around him. Good god, but that was nice. He bit his lip, failing to suppress a soft, pleasured groan, fingers drifting actively through Sherlock's hair, gentle as could be. It was the best sort of torture, slim fingers curled around him making up much of the difference, Jim's expression one of natural awe. He'd feign boredom sometimes, with a certain other, but with Sherlock it would have been counterproductive, and the most heinous of lies. Tough to maintain control but couldn't help that his hips squirmed, that it was maddeningly not enough, but he was aware too that he was being  _experimented_ on, a pickup in pace of his breathing Sherlock's earned result.

-

Sherlock continued to suck, just a bit harder as he bobbed his head, tongue paying special attention to the slit. Jim seemed at least content, and still wanting. Excellent. Made him almost...pleased just at the sight of it. Almost victorious as he realized he wasn't entirely failing as he'd predicted. He carried on like this for awhile, noting somewhere distantly Jim would take longer than he would, both from experience and the fact that Sherlock was still novice. But he wanted to fix that. His movements became a bit more focused, keeping mind of speed, pace, suction and his tongue's sliding. However, getting completely ahead of himself, he sunk down a tad too fast. The reaction was immediate and unpleasant, Sherlock's head jerking back without his permission as he found himself in a coughing fit, body convinced he was being gagged.

-

Sherlock had a wicked tongue going for him; its brush made Jim twitch, a keening whine in his throat. But needed more friction like _air_ , and when it was granted Jim's head fell back, hand in Sherlock's curls gripping tighter, uttering half-words that continually got clipped by heavy breaths. "Sh-sher...oh..." It had been way too long without such treatment, and Jim was nearing a state of overwhelmed-ness when he felt the constriction of throat, and his lover slip away. Damn it. Jim sat up on his elbows, panting, fingers loosening easily. "Eeeeasy," he breathed, expression nearly pained from the suddenness of the cessation, but keeping patience. "Always happens...first time...just go easy..." He'd settle for Sherlock's hand if he had to, but assuring him now might keep him from giving up.

-

Through the hacking fit, it took a moment for Jim's words to properly hit him. Iit was encouragement, he knew that. But he had a sinking feeling of mortification, that Jim was witnessing his painful and complete inadequacy. Thankfully, this didn't cull his determination. No. He was  _going_ to get this, as long as Jim wasn't going to get fed up with his pathetic attempts. He took a few quick breaths, nodding and wetting his lips again. He brought his hands up to Jim's thighs, running his nails down them lightly as he leaned back down. This time, keeping sure not to go too deeply, focusing more on his tongue work, sliding slowly at points, tracing the length of it, alternatively darting over the tip at others.

-

Sherlock's swift recovery was a good thing. At the scratches Jim bucked, not averse to the small, sweet shock of sensation. He watched Sherlock intently, arousal warming his body and nerves anew as those pretty lips returned. Torture! Jim was losing his usually perfect control watching, feeling it; softer than he was used to, yes, but still good, but oh, if only he'd brought up lube, and could have Sherlock's marvelously long fingers... Jim licked his lips at the thought, and maybe it was an awful time to pose the question, but he did so in a low, husky, rolling and seductive purr. "Would you fuck me someday if I asked nicely?" Maybe he wanted to see the look on Sherlock's face. Maybe he needed to hear yes, to lose himself utterly. But the lack of brain-to-mouth filter barely registered to Jim as a potential problem; as much idle dirty talk as anything, as Jim's hips nudge upward for more contact.

-

To Sherlock's credit, he didn't falter in his movements as he considered it. He let a hand come up and grip at the base, covering what his mouth could not, stroking lightly. The sensation wasn't exactly pleasant, a strain on the wrist more than anything, but Jim's reactions were, making it entirely worth it. After a moment he pulled his mouth off, looking up at Jim with wide eyes. "Is that something you're likely to do?" The answer to both questions was yes, of course. It was something he'd considered often. And even if he was still  _unclear_ on some of the finer details...Well, like this, it was a skill he had to learn to improve.

-

Jim's hips had begun a rhythm into Sherlock's hand and mouth, not ceasing when the latter was removed. Sherlock's eyes were huge and his lips were even more plump and Jim was sure he could stare at him all day, looking like that. "Hhyeah," the criminal panted, rocking up into Sherlock's fist, even so simple a question from the familiar, rich voice making an attack on his senses, his control. "Without...a...doubt...Not that you're not...doing well enough...with this..." Jim's smile was lazy, not the slightest bit self-conscious under circumstances, eyes almost entirely black with pupils blown but half-lidded. Aside from his own solitary pleasures, though, he was all too spoiled by being accustomed to getting pounded into the mattress, and just the idea that Sherlock would, wanted to, made him tremble.

-

_Well enough_. Hm. He'd have to fix that. Especially as payback for rendering him nigh speechless only a few minutes ago. Sherlock nodded slowly. "I..." Slight hesitation, but not because he wasn't amenable. More that the situation was...a bit inappropriate, his mouth slightly numb from working so avidly, mind still hazy. "Yes. I said I was willing..." _No, idiot, don't say 'willing'._ He rushed to correct himself. "Not willing. But. I want to. I will." _I just won't be anywhere near as good as you'd like..._

-

Jim wasn't going to nitpick phrasing just now; yes alone was sufficient. "Oh, good..." Barely a whisper, barely able to breathe. Jim's gaze wandered between Sherlock's face and slowly pumping hand, the combination intoxicating. Enough so to sit up halfway and surge forward, hand at the back of Sherlock's neck drawing him closer simultaneously, capturing him in a heated kiss as if sealing the promise. But more than that, needing Sherlock's mouth and warmth and hand, aching with need, and if Sherlock just kept up, just a little faster...

-

Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy the kiss - Jim needy, himself still riding the calm of post-orgasmic bliss - the stark difference to their usual dynamic where Jim was utterly in control, utterly arousing in its own way. But he had to pull away, because he wasn't about to leave a task unfinished. He left a soft peck at the corner of Jim's mouth before lowering his head again, sliding his erection between his lips as far as it would go, sucking as he sped up the strokes. It was...oddly reassuring to feel Jim's quickened pulse against his tongue, heat radiating as he bobbed his head at a controlled, almost mechanical pace in time with his deft fingers.

-

When Sherlock pulled away Jim found himself mentally praying to gods he didn't believe in, and gasped when wet heat enveloped him once more. Both the right thing to do and a mistake, looking down, seeing Sherlock's lips where he'd dreamed of them, cheekbones all the more pronounced. He cursed softly, appreciatively. Pressure building, inescapably good, endorphins and pleasure chemicals roaring through his body, short nails digging urgently into Sherlock's nape. So close, Jim's heart pounding in his own ears. "Yeah...please...oh, Sherlock..."

-

Sherlock's movements had become frantic, curls bouncing erratically with his head. He did so enjoy praise, and not only was Jim voicing it, but his body practically shouted it. Even if he weren't already a master of reading physical cues, he would know Jim wasn't faking the enthusiasm. Close. Wonderful. His choked-off sentences were the most beautiful of melodies. Slowly, he took his free hand and grasped at Jim's extended forearm, wanting to feel more of his muscles right at the moment he let go. He let his throat open, dipping down as low as he dared. Still wasn't much more, but he could swallow around the first two inches, focusing on the contractions as he let his tongue and fingers handle the rest.

-

Miraculously, the slick, consuming friction didn't let up.  Jim's mind spun, short-circuited at the further arousing inevitability of finishing in his lover's mouth. Sherlock's throat tightened around him and Jim was past language, though; in the a moment a slave to need. Thrusting as best as he could, wracking shivers turned to pulse after pulse of mad heat, Jim fell to it completely. Tensing all over as he bucked up, sheets balled tight in one first, his head fell back on his shoulders and he let loose a loud cry of Sherlock's name. One great rush of blinding pleasure followed immediately by another, fleeting ergo more worth clinging to as they rode through him and out, leaving Jim dazed and buzzing all over.

-

Sherlock's throat tensed as Jim pushed up but he managed to suppress the second coughing fit. However, it made for him not being able to swallow as well as he'd have liked, most of the evidence of Jim's orgasm dribbling out the corners of his mouth before he pulled off. He gave a cursory wipe of his mouth with the back of his wrist, the taste none too pleasant but not unendurable either. He took a deep breath, clearing whatever tension he still felt. He laid back down, draping an arm over Jim's chest, pulling him close.

-

Jim would have liked to see  Sherlock's coated lips, naughty thought, but his eyes had closed; he settled for tasting, seeking a light but grateful kiss as soon as he felt Sherlock's weight and warmth beside him. Jim hummed his contentment, nearly a purr, as he tried to catch his breath. That had been so good, and so necessary. "Mmmm...exquisite," he drawled when he could speak again, veritably  _high_ on Sherlock as he nuzzled into his neck, wrapping an arm about his waist, a worshipful little kiss placed to jawline. Jim's breath was still loud, uneven. The comedown. So warm. "Really...quite...exquisite..."

-

Sherlock shivered. Alright. He at least got Jim a bit dazed, a fraction of the complete frazzled state of being he was earlier. He could afford himself a bit of leniency for his inexperience. Smirking, he pressed a soft kiss to Jim's cheek. "Still interested, then?"

-

Body heat, god, he loved stealing it. From a select few, of course. Jim couldn't become known as a cuddler, but Sherlock and Sebastian knew differently. He smiled, hand drifting along Sherlock's side. They still had their shirts on, and it was very amusing suddenly. He toyed with the fabric and buttons of Sherlock's, hand slipping below it, drifting. "In?"

-

Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle caress of Jim's fingers. After a moment, he let his own begin to work at the smaller man's buttons. "Me. Since I wasn't too awful." He suddenly felt very vulnerable - okay, he'd spent the night with Jim before, but never  _completely_ naked. At least with pants. But it seemed absurd to leave their shirts on at this point, almost as ridiculous as getting dressed. Still. Being exposed...No one in his adult life had yet seen him nude. And with Jim, it was both emotional and physical. _Oh._ He felt a lump well up in his throat. _S_ _entiment of a most dangerous kind..._

-

It was painful to think Sherlock might actually believe it was a qualification, a necessity, for Jim's adoration. Had nothing he'd said from the beginning ever gotten through? Made For Each Other had masqueraded itself inside many meanings, but at its core, the comment was not one Jim made lightly, or with conditions. He moved away from Sherlock's neck, tilting back to meet his eyes, hand finding Sherlock's on his own shirt and squeezing it. Yep, Jim was bored, alright - bored with Sherlock's doubts. "Darling, it could never happen again and I'd still be interested," Jim assured softly. They were in his hidden, private observatory. All was safe here. "You're something of an 'Always' to me, Sherock.  I hope you realize that."

-

The term Always bothered  Sherlock. At least, when it came to other things. A mathematical impossibility, unless talking about constants. And even the most solid of rules, such as the speed of light, could be changed in the right conditions, such as when speaking of Muons or the tenth dimension. Still. As Jim was saying it, Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that he was being honest. Mostly because he felt the same way, if not coming a bit late to the realization. He'd _always_ been fascinated with Jim in this way, he just hadn't had the tools to properly analyze it. "I...Alright," he mumbled, pressing another kiss to inviting lips. He'd work on verbal expression at some later point.

-

The point wasn't to hear it back, it was to make sure Sherlock understood, and it seemed he at least accepted it as truth. Good start, Jim reasoned, taking the kiss and prolonging it, the sigh against Sherlock's lips a contented one. Once it broke he slid carefully out his sleeves, shrugging them off, and finished with Sherlock's buttons too before reaching to the foot of the day bed for the blanket folded there. Cashmere, not a proper duvet, but it suited his naps here fine, and it struck  Jim again that this time here with Sherlock christened the room in a sexual sense. Couldn't rightly tell him that without reminding him of someone else, but...he smiled as he pulled the blanket around them, settling back down against Sherlock's frame. "So much for the tour," he chuckled.

-

"I think I'll live," Sherlock grinned, wrapping his arms around Jim, pulling him close. It was comforting. Not something he expected, cradling his arch-nemesis, yet here he was. Here  _they_ were, entirely entangled in every sense. Somehow, it was the happiest he'd ever been.

-

It was probably post-orgasm chemicals rolling through his system still, softening his brain, but Jim felt nearly as  _safe_ in Sherlock's arms as he had in Sebastian's. Not consciously comparing, merely throwing caution to the wind. Sherlock was, by virtue of belovedness, actually more capable of hurting him than anyone, even without meaning to. But right now, it wasn't even a thought on his radar. He kissed Sherlock's upper arm, languishing in the quiet, the peace to be found just in this. Dangerous to business if not to himself, or vice versa, or all of the above. He'd burn the world down city by city for Sherlock, and call off the match being sparked if the same requested it of him. On that trail of thought, maybe Jim could live, too, if it meant all this. Just maybe. "Tired?" he asked.

-

Sherlock hummed in assent, pressing his lips against Jim's forehead softly, not able to get enough of him. Not something he could ever get used to, or take for granted. He snuggled closer. "Are you?" Words were heavy in his mouth, each taking just a tad more of the energy he was using to stay awake. 

-

Jim's lashes fluttered at the kiss as he smiled. It always felt as if they were making the best effort of kissing each other's very brains, skull and protective layers and skin be damned. He nodded. "Didn't sleep great, then today was...rollercoaster-esque, to put it lightly," Jim murmured, scooting as near as he could, kissing Sherlock's chest. "Always sleep better with you..." The light was still on but Jim couldn't bring himself to leave the spot, simply closing his eyes on it instead.

-

**[cue adorable sleepy snuggles til falling asleep, obvs]**


	5. MorMor (ft. Sherlock) - angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: MorMor (though as friends more than anything)
> 
> contents: angst, alcohol, texts, Jim trying to help a suicidal Sebastian
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> the day after previous chapter

[attached m56.pdf] Details for meeting. -JM

Thanks. -SM

Are you home at present? -JM

Yeah. Reading the brief on my laptop. -SM

Good. Any questions? -JM

Not really. Done this before. -SM

Wait. Why's Morstan on my tail? -SM

To look out for you. Even if it weren't a courtesy, it'd still be expected of me to have backup. -JM

Not That. You know I don't like her. -SM

Why, because she's nearly as good as you? -JM

That, and that one time she tried to shoot me so she could have my job. -SM

Fine. Who do you prefer? -JM

I don't know, who's even half-competent? -SM

Gauss, maybe. Still freelancing last I heard, should be able to scoop up. I really don't think Mary'd risk your not-so-friendly fire again, but your job, your arse on the line, we'll try for Gauss. -JM

I can put my grudge aside if there was any guarantee she won't try again. I imagine she wasn't too thrilled I returned. -SM

She's a professional. And she's gotten enough of what would have been your work, anyway. I don't think you've much to worry about. -JM

She's a professional with absolutely no conscience or loyalties. Only self-serving instincts. Suppose I could just tell her I'll leave if she wants it so badly. -SM

Recurring theme with you lately. -JM

Excuse me if dying isn't preferable. But just barely. -SM

I'll call Gauss, relax. -JM

I'm completely relaxed. -SM

Well, I'm not, considering you're playing at indecision again. Who used to handle my staffing? The one who's not even sure he's on board anymore. Don't really have time or mind for added uncertainties. -JM

[delay] You should have let me go. -SM

[Easier said than done. DELETED]   [delay] Maybe so. -JM

Regardless, I'm here now. And I'll stay unless given good reason to leave. Such as threats to my life. Alright? -SM

Yes. Today fine for sending things to yours? -JM

Yep. -SM

Good. I'd prefer not to entrust the arsenal to a third party, I'm sure you feel the same, thus you can pick them up next time I'm out. -JM

Of course, boss. -SM

[delay] Do you want that picture or should I keep it? -JM

[No. Too painful. DELETED]   [Considering it was all a lie, I'd just be deluding myself whenever I look at it. DELETED]  [delay] Keep it. -SM

Irene and her surreptitious photography.  Would really have to talk to her about it one of these days if it weren't usually so useful. Anything else here I shouldn't bother packing? -JM

[Whatever's left of my dignity. DELETED]  [No reply]

[2 hours later] Stuff's on the way. -JM

Thanks. -SM

[And no, it wasn't as easy as I'm making it sound, in case you're wondering. DELETED]  Of course. -JM

When can I come by for my other firearms? -SM

If you're antsy about it and don't mind me here, whenever. Otherwise, tomorrow night I suppose. -JM

I doubt you want me around. I'd prefer not dealing with that kind of tension. -SM

I look forward to the day it's easier than all that. -JM

Yes. I live to make your life easier. -SM

I didn't mean just for me. You know what they say about assumptions. -JM

I'm fine, boss. Jut want to be done with whatever I still feel. -SM

Gauss is in, Morstan's out. -JM

[delay] Great. -SM

Settled, then. Have a pleasant afternoon. -JM

[no reply]  

[around 4am] You're a right arse, did you know that? -SM

Pretty aware. Go to sleep, Sebastian. -JM

You're not my goddamn mother. -SM

Doesn't mean I don't know what's best. -JM

No, the fact you're a selfish idiot means you know what's best but refuse to act on it. -SM

Sleeping? I was almost. -JM

Best for YOU, then. Not for anyone else. -SM

That's not entirely true, I don't think. But I do apologize for the seemingly maternal stance taken. -JM

[delay] If you had cared at all for me, you'd have let me leave. Instead, because you couldn't bear to lose on someone else's terms, you called me to come back. Then you had the NERVE to tell me to let YOU go. You had the chance, you just had to rub it in my face. So it's NOTHING to do with caring for me. -SM  
And if you care at all for Holmes, and not for your own selfish desires, you would leave him before you destroy him or youself. Or, better yet, you'd have left him alone in the first place. Because you know you can't help it. -SM

[delay] Guess it's a little late on all those fronts. -JM

[no reply]

What do you want to hear? That you're free? Is that the best thing here? You could have done away with me and you didn't. If I'm the monster you're making me out to be, shame on you for letting it live. Don't presume to tell me about Sherlock and I, because I don't want to hear it, and it means nothing in light of what I know is true. But you. What do you want now? -JM

Wrong. I know you, asshole. And I know how you planned to kill him one day. That hasn't changed because you're making goo-goo eyes at each other. As for what I want, I want OUT. And I mean the same way you do. -SM

[delay] Why? -JM

You'll never understand. -SM

Tell me anyway. -JM

If you don't already know, then no. I'm done with your games. -SM

Then I do understand. What little good that does, to say so. -JM

Well put, idiot. -JM

[Come over, Seb. DELETED] In some respects, you're right. I know so much more of breaking things than fixing them. So I'm at a loss. Selfish me, all I, I, I - naturally. Horrible. You're right.  I'd ask what I can do but I'll bet the answer's nothing, isn't it? Not me. -JM

[delay] Nothing you want to do. And nothing I'd want to ask. So you're right. -SM

[To Sherlock]  
[4:36am] Sherlock. -JM  
[4:37am] Wake up. -JM  
[4:39am] Need your help. -JM

[delay] Sorry, I got stuck in a straitjacket. What's wrong? -SH

How do you save a life? -JM

Not really my area... -SH

John is the life-saver. I solve the murder. -SH

Wake your humanitarian heart up and ask him, then. How he'd save a life its owner doesn't want anymore. -JM

He isn't here. Some girlfriend or another. I think he'd recommend psychiatric help. -SH

He would. Thanks, anyway. -JM

You've yet to tell me what's wrong. -SH

Worried about someone. -JM

You interrupted my experiment to be evasive. Alright. -SH

Not the intent. It's Sebastian, alright? Shush if you've nothing nice to say, but I have to go check on him. Given nature of my questions, do the math on why. I'll text sooner or later. -JM

[delay] I understand. Be careful. -SH

I will. x  -JM

[text to Seb, 5:08am]  
So I'm downstairs. Gonna cap me if I come up? -JM

You have the ones worth using. -SM

How reassuring. -JM

Sebastian had spent a better part of the evening drinking. His girlfriend had been there for the first hour or so, but she'd had a rehearsal early in the morning, and had bid her goodbyes. Meanwhile, Moran was forced to languish over Jim's earlier texts, entirely absorbed by this new idea. Jim told him to leave, but for a set time. Seb defied him, choosing, essentially, to stay gone. Jim didn't want him anymore, so he had to detach. But. Jim couldn't handle that. So he texted him one night to say he missed him, and Seb stupidly believed that meant anything at all. He'd stopped drinking but was on his fourth cigarette when Jim texted that he was there. No doubt trying to rub it in his face. Again. Or keep him alive, just to keep playing with him. He pressed the nearly-finished smoke into his forearm next to three other burn marks, the pain no longer registering. He lit another as he heard the door creak open. "What the fuck do you want, Jim?"

Jim slipped the hand-compiled multitool back into his pocket, and nearly ordered Sebastian crack a window due to all the smoke, before remembering it wasn't his place to do so. Not even a little. He closed the door gently behind him and leaned against it, hands in pockets as he stared at Sebastian across the half-dark room. "To see you," he said plainly, tone cautiously light. "Can't really begrudge me that, as you made it sound like the last opportunity to do so."

"Mmm." Seb nodded, still quite drunk. He saw Jim's clear disgust and got up shakily, going to the other side of the room and opening a window. He leaned against it for a moment. "I begrudge you trying to stop me, seeing as you'd hate me for trying the same." He shrugged, turning around to look at Jim, back against the window. "You're still a right arse."

A little pang of realization hit Jim when Seb went to the window. Seb's actions proved something, silently: he did want Jim here, no matter what else he said, if he was making the environment more breathable. "Well,  _that's_ never going to change," Jim admitted, still sticking to the door, keeping his distance. Sebastian slurred gruffly, proving he'd been drinking, which was something of a comfort. Maybe he'd be off all this tomorrow. But what was the old saying? Drunk words speak sober thoughts. "But I'm not trying to stop you. Of course I'd like to, but if you wanted it, I wouldn't know how to go about stopping it happening. That bothers me, some. I usually know everything. I mean, maybe I should have just brought a couple pieces over, and we could do it together. Nice and simple. If you're so sure I'm going to ruin him anyway, better sooner than later, right? But I don't think I'd have been able to get a cab, packing all that. So let's just talk instead, huh?"

Seb smirked without being able to stop it. Of course Jim would suggest a suicide pact. And of course Jim would redirect him. Felt...oddly familiar. Might've been something in the whiskey. Still, he had to hide his overall amusement, shaking his head, scoffing a bit. "What is there to talk about?" Because, really...What _hadn't_ they analyzed to shrapnel yet, sometimes with volume?

Jim couldn't be entirely sure, but it seemed like the general airiness of the monologue had hit its mark. It wasn't to make light of Seb's pain, but they'd always done plenty for each other with a touch of humor. Jim would cling to what Sebastian had said, about his presence alone helping, for as long as he could. It was true from either side, even if Jim's presence was also really the worst thing. "Dunno, really," Jim shrugged. He looked at the floor for a moment, spotting a hair tie that certainly didn't belong to the sniper, then back up at Seb. "How's the girl?" If bragging and cockiness were helpful, Jim could handle hearing it for Sebastian's sake.

"Fine, I guess," Seb frowned, taking a drag from the cigarette he'd nearly forgotten about, perched between his numb fingers.  He wasn't sure what to make of the question. Nor was he feeling particularly interested in her...Somehow she seemed...far away in his mind, now that Jim was here.

Jim made a small, thoughtful hum, biting the inside of his cheek. Sebastian could have been a threat, true, but Jim sensed more melancholy than imminent physical peril. Plus, the window was working to clear the smoke. Jim pushed off from the door, striding with hands still in pockets to the sofa. He could have asked before sitting but decided to forgo the pleasantries, and put on the display that he wasn't afraid. If he was it was  _for_ Seb, not  _of_ him. "No rest for the wicked, is there," he stated, leaning his head on the back of the sofa, glancing up at Sebastian.

Seb gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. Guess not." He shrugged. "Unless you're you, I suppose. Got your soulmate and all." He crushed the smoke in his hand, a slight hiss as it burned his palm. His face turned dark, averting Jim's gaze. "If only for a little while."

Jim watched, an odd scent he hadn't quite been able to place suddenly obvious. Burning flesh, how could he not have guessed? Sebastian's words made him frown, in that overstated way that dragged the corners of his mouth down almost comically on so expressive a face. He sat up home, shoulders rounded in that perpetual computer hunch. Eyes sweeping, counting the empty bottles on the table, as he considered Sebastian's words. He had no answer for them, snarky, defensive or otherwise.

"Hm," Seb hummed. "No witty comeback about how I know nothing? Tsk, seems your emotions have really gotten in the way..." He walked over and dropped the extinguished butt into the ashtray, standing by the table. "That, or you really don't care anymore, which would be interesting in itself." And heartbreaking, but he would skip saying that.

So it wasn't the chance to be cocky that would help Sebastian, here. It was the chance to rib Jim. What's a little emotional torment among friends, right? The problem was, Jim hadn't come for this. Expected it, to some extent, but had thought he could help, somehow...Faulty reasoning, probably. Everything seemed as faulty, suddenly. Wanting to die, wanting to live, trying to distance, trying to help or hold Seb to him still...Jim peered up at Sebastian curiously, brow furrowed, as if trying to work out why poking at this, of all things - when Sebastian purported drunkenly to want the same - was the right thing for the man to be doing. Jim's expression had gone soft with confusion as he blinked, lips parted as if he might speak at any second but couldn't.

Seb frowned. Nothing. But...something in that expression. He flopped down in the chair across from Jim, draping an arm over his face as he leaned his head back, sighing. "Say something," he said, voice barely managing to keep from quivering, his chest aching. Jim was here, but for what? Just to be abused further? Cause he certainly wasn't rubbing it in, hadn't even mentioned the other git.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but not abruptly - slowly stolen, more. And it hurt. Jim wasn't sure why. Sebastian saying he wouldn't understand, then jabbing at every part of Jim that he knew too well. Did it help Seb at all? Jim felt very tiny, like he was shrinking into himself. Not drifting or dissociating - that'd have been easier. He was glued instead to his own heavy silence. What good could he possibly do here? For Sebastian, for himself, for Sherlock. Good wasn't really in his range, even if his own occasional exultations made him sure it was. Always temporary. Seb would always speak as if he was so sure the day would come, of getting a phone call saying  The King Is Dead. It was...disheartening. And Seb wanted to toy with it, with him. Hey, rightly so. But Jim wasn't naturally a willing martyr to any cause, and ignoring Seb's request, stood up from the sofa and walked slowly to the kitchen. Turned on the tap. Caught cold water in cupped hands and brought it to his face.

Seb groaned. Of course Jim wouldn't take to instruction. He hardly ever did. And he still wasn't any closer to figuring this situation out. Fuck. If he didn't still _care_ , this wouldn't matter at all. He wouldn't be drinking. He wouldn't be drunk-texting his ex that broke his heart, whose thumb he still had to live under. "It's never going to get any easier, is it?" he asked solemnly, unsure if Jim could even hear him.

One wave of water - _I didn't come here to hurt you_. Another - _I don't understand why you can't remind me how awful Sherlock is, rather than how awful I am_. Third - _why can't I fix either of us_. Jim let the water chill his face, droplets down his forehead and cheeks and neck, and turned off the tap, leaning against the counter. Wanted to sit on the floor, not go back in the room with that....cruel giver of self-awareness. But he had to, didn't he? This wasn't about him, tonight, but Sebastian had...opened a wound or cracked an emotional bone, or something...Jim sighed, hands on the edges of the sink. Just try for words. Keep Sebastian talking, even if it all stung. "What isn't."

"Being around you," Seb stated gravely. "Loving you," he said. The words no matter how true would always taste wrong on his tongue. "And watching you love someone else," he added with a heavy sigh. Despite spending ten years trying to crack that shell. And even now, still, he was calm on the surface. Unable to be swayed. Perhaps he really wasn't right, and didn't know Jim as well as he'd have liked.

Jim stared dully into the sink, imagining plugging it, filling it until it spilled over, flooded the flat, drowned them both. Impossible. Unlikely. Oh, well. Bravely but cautiously he stepped back into the main room, standing feet behind Sebastian's chair, staring at the back of his head. Even he hated sometimes, that it could have all been so easy and wasn't. But that was an abstract feeling. His hands hung at his sides. "I don't imagine so," Jim said after a long moment. "And caring about you too, now, is all...different, than it was. But doesn't stop it happening. So. I don't really know how..." Jim's voice may have cracked, and he took a deep breath. "If you want to hurt me, Bastian, out of revenge or whatever, you can. You're a marksman who knows his target. But I didn't come here tonight to hurt you more."

"Of course I wanna hurt you," Seb laughed darkly. "I want you to suffer even the slightest fraction that I have." He stood up, turning to face Jim, feet from each other. "Not to mention,  I want everyone in this room dead." But he sighed, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Except. You're safe from me. Because you make me weak, and ruin my resolve, because I look at you, and can't be angry anymore. But all I'm left with is despair. Lucky _you_." He shuddered, still drunk, but it was wearing off, warded away by the need to be serious.

Jim felt discomfort squirming under every inch of his skin. He knew all these things already deep down - and had chosen something, someone else. There was power, of course, in reducing a big strong sniper to this, but not the sort Jim sought or wanted just now. Yet somehow it was all his fault, his terrible creation, the most godawfully depressing Frankenstein of emotions any mad scientist could take credit for. Who'd want to? "Despair and me," Jim corrected quietly, "At...rifuckingdiculous o'clock, because...Seb..." Jim's eyes rolled but not in annoyance - more exasperation, searching, keeping pointless tears at bay. "I shouldn't have come. I'm making it worse and that wasn't my intent."

"Then what  _is_ your intent?" Seb asked, completely at wits' end. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Then he huffed, dropping his shoulders, his posture. "You know what, never mind. If you wanna go, just go." He waved his hand, returning to his forgotten glass of whiskey, downing what was left of it and walking towards the bedroom.

The worst part was, Jim didn't want to. Maybe he should anyway? Would it be easier? "To- to show you! That just because we're not fucking doesn't mean I'm not here for you..." Jim explained, and found himself trailing rapidly after his former lover whether he meant to or not. "To make sure you didn't OFF yourself! Over-- over _me_!" The laugh Jim barked was bitter, disgusted. He'd caught up to Seb, fully prepared to have a door slammed in his face, so paused where he stood, but couldn't stop talking now that it had begun, finding talking to Sebastian's broad back easier than to his face. "Jesus shitting hell, I mean...I've bought your loyalty, I've  _owned_ your days and nights, but what the fuck. Have  _I_ ever done. To deserve-" Jim broke off, incapable of saying the rest. To deserve Sebastian. To deserve his foolish, breakable heart.

Seb stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. But Jim faltered. Still, it was enough to give him pause. He leaned forward, pressing his head against the door. "I don't know. To deserve what, exactly?" He shuddered, sadness, true sadness, welling up inside. "But I'm all too aware what I've done to deserve my bloody misery." He was emotionally fried. He'd lost whatever battle there still was. And the days would feel hollow after all this finally washed away. "Evil really does pay. And I congratulate you on your success. Never mind what I said, y'know, I'm sure you'll be very happy and whatever it is you know that I don't, will ensure you earning to care for someone else enough to...be stable. Now. Please." Tears pricked at his eyes, two escaping, sliding hot down his cheeks. "I'm tired, Jim. So tired. Of all this. Of the games. Of the work. There's really nothing left."

Jim might have clarified had Sebastian not cracked before his eyes. The diatribe made Jim feel like someone was taking an ice cream scooper to his insides. But he had to try. Because Sebastian understood, now. Being that tired. Desolate. Sure,  Jim's fault, but...the commonality of it, the many times  Seb had been there no matter how ugly or hopeless it got...His arms wrapped around Sebastian's torso from behind, Jim pressing his cheek between his shoulderblades. "You. Deserve you, your friendship. You're...my only friend, Bastian, and I know that's not enough, but...couldn't we try to let it be?" Telling tears stuck in the fabric of Seb's shirt. Jim's naivety when it came to their connection was almost childlike, for they'd never been so close to not knowing each other at all. To think of Seb as gone, or gone _forever_...no. It wasn't okay. "This kind of tired...It's bad, tiger. Trust me. I know."

"I tried already..." It was Sebastian's turn to sob but in silence, face still pressed against the door. This was utterly weak. Disgusting, in ways, coming apart so easily. Especially in front of Jim. "Years ago. I let myself just be your hired gun. Slowly, however...I couldn't help but allow my admiration for you to bleed through. Much to...my surprise, and...delight, you didn't reject it. We became friends, sort of..." He began physically, visibly shaking as he felt the slight moisture on his spine. "But I still wanted more. And you  _still_ didn't reject me..." He sighed. "And now. Now you want me to go back to that, except I have to live with seeing you, following your orders, and knowing you'll never feel the same." He pried Jim's arms away, holding his wrists as he turned around, sense of self-preservation gone as he let Jim see his tear-soaked face. "So...no, it can't ever be enough. And...that isn't your fault."

Jim didn't need the run-down, the autobiography of their well-meaning mistakes. But Seb apparently needed to get it out, and Jim had to listen. Had to remember, and remember why it was all ending now. His chest hurt, breaths shaky, and why was he being moved? The hug from Sebastian had helped the other day, but Jim's was poisonous. No surprise. Features crumbled when he looked up at the other, having to face all the sorrow he'd caused, those shockingly pretty blue eyes just leaking and leaking. Jim sniffed, found it hard to believe this was happening, like a bad dream. But Sebastian was right. Wouldn't be enough and how dare he ask. Jim's gaze drifted to the hands around his wrists and extracted himself, as it wasn't forceful, touching around the fresh burn marks. "At least...let me help...clean these. Seb? Please."

Sebastian bit his lip, releasing Jim's hands. Innocent enough request. But why was Jim getting so emotional? He was letting go, like Jim had wanted. That's all Seb was good for. Taking orders. "I wasn't planning to. But if that's what you want...alright." First aid kit was in the bedroom but he still didn't want to move. So he just stood there, stunned by his own inability to cope.

"Helped me enough...so many times," Jim was whispering almost to himself. He'd thought they'd find a way of managing, still. Somehow. He'd been so wrong, or so Sebastian said. But still, Jim had to fix what damage he could, to try one last time to be there for his tiger. Maybe it could change something. Maybe it would calm them both. Looking up at Sebastian, Jim's eyes were huge and tired, even the lashes wet. "Med kit's...where?" he prompted softly. It would be a distraction. Practical. Though it'd all go to waste if tomorrow Seb just grabbed a gun and, boom. Jim didn't really want to live in that version of the world, whether Sherlock was there or not. Seb was maybe the last thing in Jim's life that  _wasn't_ about Sherlock, though at times he'd cruelly forgotten this fact. Pretended. Shouldn't have, but somehow impulses always won out. Selfish, yes. But still standing right here, rather than sleeping, and intending to help.

"I'll get it," Sebastian droned. As much as he'd like to be cruel, his bedroom smelling of _her_ , he wasn't feeling sadistic. He turned the knob, falling backward, stumbling in the room, taking a moment to compose himself. He fished in the dresser on autopilot for his more heavy-duty kit, with gauze, tape and burn ointments among other things he usually used for bullet wounds, or deep gashes of any sort. He eyed the Gloc he kept in the sock drawer, but shook his head. No, there would be time enough for that. He had Jim to worry about right now, and he didn't want to make him _watch_. Stupid. Always thinking of him first. If only he could be as selfish as Jim. He took the kit and returned to where Jim was standing, still not quite able to process what to do next.

 

**[Summary of remainder:** Jim fixes him up on the sofa, and Sebastian passes out there. Jim watches him until he falls asleep curled up in the chair, but leaves before Seb wakes up. **]**


	6. Sheriarty; Seb & Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Sheriarty, mentions of MorMor, Sebrene friendship
> 
> contents: texts only, setting the scene for the next chapters
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> the day after previous chapter]

**SHERIARTY:**

Thinking of you. -SH

Good thoughts, I hope. -JM

Mostly. I will admit to worry from your state of mind last night, but clearly you're in a fit state to text. -SH

Not my state of mind I'm worried about, really. No punches thrown, all's as well as it can be. Didn't mean to worry you. -JM

You seemed panicked. -SH

Had it been the good doctor on the line, would you not have been? -JM

Yes. But thankfully he's not the suicidal type. -SH

[delay] What were you doing in a straitjacket, anyhow? Meant to inquire. -JM

Seeing if I could escape. Turns out, I could. -SH

Guessing it's a slow work week. -JM

A bit. Must be for you as well. -SH

I wish that were so. Not much that'd come your way yet, unfortunately. More a matter of staffing, as it were. -JM

Unfortunate when bureaucracy gets in the way of work. -SH

Right? Consulting criminal, not a human resources manager. And yet. Can I try the straitjacket sometime? Sounds fun, playing Houdini. -JM

Perhaps you should hire one. And alright. It's easy, if you know how. -SH

Well,  I had a Chief of Staff but he's come down with a bad case of never wanting to see me again. -JM

Terminally incurable ailment? -SH

At least to be accepted as such. -JM

I'm sorry for your loss, and for my involvement in it. -SH

While I appreciate the sentiment, the pros outweigh the cons in my mind. -JM

[delay] Thank you. -SH

And thank you for understanding last night. -JM

You're welcome, but I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help. -SH

Said understanding was help enough. I've really only got two people, Sherlock.  Maybe it'd be easier in the long run if he did what he said he wanted to. But that doesn't mean I'll let him. Still, I hope such emergencies won't be a recurring thing. Need my beauty sleep sometimes. -JM

I'm sure you look wonderful regardless. -SH

You're too sweet. -JM

I'm showing remarkable improvement. -SH

Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Reputations to uphold and all... -JM

Of course. If anyone find out, they might die of shock. Besides, I think you like having a side of me all to yourself. -SH

Guilty as charged. -JM

Adorable. Truly. -SH

[You've something of mine, too. DELETED]  Really? Not just, I don't know...selfish? -JM

What do you mean? -SH

Been accused of that in the past. Just checking. -JM

I think all humans must be selfish by evolutionary necessity. That doesn't mean it's a bad thing. -SH

Well, so long as you don't mind me thinking you're mine. -JM

And vice versa. -JM

Mutual selfishness, perhaps. -JM

[delay] I thought that was obvious? -SH

Sometimes stating the obvious isn't as dull as I make it out to be. -JM

Or perhaps you're seeking confirmation. -SH

[delay] You could've walked away after I lied to you. And you didn't. And it means more to me than you know. That's all. -JM

I couldn't have. -SH

There are bad days, Sherlock. But somehow they don't exist in conjunction with you. That still confuses me some, but I'll take it. -JM

My bad days occur when I'm bored. You see to it that it doesn't happen. -SH

I don't really have the choice to leave. Not after a lifetime of needing you. -SH

You take my breath away, sweetheart. Really. Want to see you tonight. -JM

I'd like that. -SH

Could go out. Do something fun. Dancing. Breaking into a museum. Concert. Long walk, pretend we're tourists. Anything. -JM

There's an art exhibit I wanted to see. If we break in, promise not to steal anything? -SH

You ask so much of me, angel o'mine. I suppose I can behave just this once. -JM

You know I don't usually mind. I'd just like you thinking of me, not constantly plotting a heist. -SH

I'm always thinking of you. Especially when plotting heists. -JM

How sweet. -SH

I know, I'm such a romantic sometimes, it's nauseating. -JM

I don't mind. -SH

Which museum? -JM

By extreme coincidence, the same one with a history of faked pieces...-SH

And here I thought preliminary ensuring of access was going to be a challenge. This simplifies matters. -JM

One might even say I'm a cheap date. -SH

[delay] Made a couple calls that should keep your brother busy tonight, too. But I'll derail some cameras just in case. -JM

I'm sure he'll be suspicious, but not much he can do about it. -SH

No, he won't. -JM

Is there anything you'd like to do? -SH

Will be with you, what more could I want? -JM

[I think you're the only one who'd say that. DELETED] [I love you. DELETED]  I'm not sure what to say. That's very sweet of you. -SH

Midnight alright? I want to catch a nap beforehand. -JM

We can go even later, if you want. -SH

Sleep pattern's a wreck as is, 12 should be fine. -JM

**IRENE & SEBASTIAN:**

Sebastian, dear, James isn't answering my texts. Have I fallen from favor or is it a bad time? -IA

He's busy these days. I'm sure it's got nothing to do with you. -IA

Always so busy. Willing to pass a question along? It concerns you, as well. -IA

Sure. -SM

I was hoping to borrow you for a week. I've business in Paris, but could run into trouble. You came first to mind, been far too long since I've seen either of you naughty boys. -IA

I imagine I'll be more fun. Jim is...occupied. -SM

You're certainly superior as muscle goes. Trouble on his end, too? -IA

Opposite of trouble. Boyfriend. -SM

Never tell him I said this, but I'm amazed that's not yet fallen to pieces. Now I AM offended he's not answering. -IA

I've often thought the same. You could try bothering his precious pet. -SM

How have you been? -IA

Other than a particularly nasty hangover, I've been fine, yourself? -SM

Indulging my inner interior decorator, the house needed some repairs and I've taken it as a sign to go wild. Rather fun. There's a rug I imagine you'd like, tiger skin. Not drinking too much, I hope? -IA

How dare you have such a majestic creature slain. Oh well.  Everything's going to hell regardless. And not sure. I hardly remember, I just woke up with a pounding headache and no whiskey left. -SM

I daren't - it's from the 30's and antique shop. You poor dear. Aspirin, water, tiger balm on temples and back of neck. If James drove you to drink, he should make up for it by making breakfast. I remember his quiches on the Verduno trip weren't half bad. -IA

It might've been about him. But he doesn't know. Self-absorbed arse. -IA

Not denying that. Sounds as if a week away is a welcome prospect? -IA

You and he think too alike. -SM

Oh, dear. I'd thank you for the compliment if I thought you meant it as one. -IA

Well. It's not a bad idea. I won't decline the vacation. -SM

You'll be working, of course, but nothing much heavier than watching my back for me. Want to discuss over lunch? My treat. Can order something hearty for the hangover, and you can pet the deceased tiger if you'd like. -IA

[delay] Alright. I doubt I'll be much for conversation. -SM

If you'd prefer, tomorrow suits as well, but if you're wallowing alone I'll feel inclined to take a whip to James, and  I daresay he'd enjoy that far too much. Do come visit. If lunch doesn't fix you up, Kate's Bloody Marys surely will. -IA

Fine, fine, stop talking about Jim and I'll be over in 20. -SM

Faux pas, forgive me. Looking forward to it. -IA


	7. Seb & Irene Have A Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Seb & Irene, no romance, just friends
> 
> contents: sharing a meal, planning for a trip, talking shit about Jim and Sherlock, after which Seb makes an important phone call
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> same day as texts in previous chapter

Seb sighed. Well. Meeting with Irene was always entertaining, if nothing else. And getting away from Jim sounded lovely right about now. He ruffled his hair, getting off the sofa, sulking to the shower. Just a quick scrub to get the remaining smell of alcohol off him. His head began feeling better by the time he hopped out, throwing on his old fatigues. He shoved his mobile in pocket, taking a cab to Irene's, knocking roughly on the door.

Perching on a chair in the study, Irene re-read the texts, frowning slightly as she sought to read between the lines. Yes, alright, bit of a gossip, but they were _friends_ , she did _care_. It could get complicated, remaining in touch with all involved, though she'd like to. They were all fun boys in their own ways. And Irene had been hearing from Jim about Sherlock from day one...only never expected much would come of it. It was like watching a soap opera unfold and at the moment, the texts were the most information she had. Also at the moment, securing Sebastian for Paris was her main concern; the interest in information had to take the backburner. She'd always liked Sebastian's sense of humor, too, the odd times they'd been together. Strange to think of one of them without the other... At the knock she rose, striding into the foyer, presenting a relatively relaxed image - hair down, a simple dark blue dress - when she opened the door to a Sebastian who looked more dressed for war than for lunch. Irene smiled faintly. "Well, now. Let's get the tired soldier some coffee."

Seb groaned in appreciation, both at the idea of coffee, and in her carefully-yet-casually selected outfit. Didn't think he could stomach Jim's level, Irene's  _usual_ level, of finery on a hangover. "You're a goddess, Irene." He stepped in, removing his heavy boots, always having the utmost respect for her space. Some strange power she had, or must've been the natural inclination to submit to more ambitious people. 

"I know," she answered with an enigmatic yet genuine smile, almost dimpling, and pressed a kiss of greeting to his cheek, about to remind him about the boots but noticing it was automatic, was pleased. She closed the door gently behind them. "Kate's making some calls, she'll be down at some point. But under the weather or not, it's good to see you," she chattered, leading the way towards the kitchen, french press already full and steaming on the counter.

"Mm," Seb nodded in assent, "You, too." He meant it, though he couldn't muster as much enthusiasm as he would've liked, what with the headache still dully throbbing. "Kitchen or sitting room?"

"Sitting room, do go ahead and make yourself comfortable.  Sugar, cream, or black?" she asked, retrieving two sturdy mugs and a glass, and opening another cabinet to pull out a bottle of aspirin. 

"Black...seems a good idea right about now," Sebastian sighed, flopping himself over on her pristine, white sofa, crossing an arm over his face to block out some of the brightness.

Irene set the mugs on a silver tray, and filled the glass with filtered water. Within a minute she came into the sitting room with the tray full of one dark coffee, one pale, water, and two pills, carried with the utmost grace despite her brisk pace. "There we are," she declared, speaking more quietly as the room was large enough and with such high ceilings as to echo and possibly agitate the poor man. "We've a  _feast_ on the way as well, shouldn't be too long. Have those pills, if you didn't at home." She straightened from setting the tray down, and set to pulling closed the tall curtains.

"Thanks," Seb replied, tossing back the pills with the water. He'd taken two before, but two more honestly couldn't hurt. He leaned his head back a moment and sighed again, letting it all sink in. "Alright," he snapped his eyes open, all alertness. "What's the job?"

Settling with one leg crossed over the other into the chair opposite, Irene took up her mug, blowing steam from the top. "Three clients in France. Decided to fit them all into one week, so I'm not continually hopping back and forth. However," she sipped carefully. "Last time I was in town I may have caused a spot of scandal, and certain parties are...worth avoiding. What I didn't know until I'd done some research, is that a close relative of one party, works for the Police aux Frontieres. So, while not in any way _banned_ from Paris, though it could well be argued I should be-" A proud smile wasn't out of place, there. "That I'm even in  _town_ could be passed along to those I hope to avoid. You'd keep me safe, simply, and likely have free time enough to find trouble of your own."

"I'm not really interested in _trouble_ anymore," Seb smirked, taking the mug off the table. He sniffed it. Smelled wonderful, but he wasn't really looking for wonderful right now, either. He sipped, not minding that it burned his tongue as it grounded him some. "Mm, but. I'll still make sure you  _stay_ in trouble." He gave a breathy chuckle. "Safely, that is."

Irene watched him from over the mug, a mix of curiosity and surprise. Sebastian, not interested in trouble? What could possibly take the fight out of the man? Oh...but James could. Irene was not about to voice any variation of that thought, and nodded, sipping her coffee again, glad at least that he could laugh some. Good sign. "You're a peach, Sebastian," she said sweetly, and added with a wry quirk of lips, "But a terrible liar. I find it nearly impossible to believe you no longer want anything to do with trouble." Far kinder than inquiring as to what brought him down, Irene reasoned, was to playfully boost him back up, winking before taking another sip.

"Perhaps I  _want_ it," Seb mused, "But am confident I should stay out of it. Getting _old_ , y'know," he gave a tight smile as he thought of Jim in his own joking-yet-self-depricating comment, taking another sip as it cooled.

Irene's eyes narrowed in fake scrutiny. "Mm...no...that's surely the hangover talking, dear. Wild things are always young at heart."

"Could be  _many_ things," Sebastian huffed, "But the hangover isn't helping."

Irene pondered the many that she knew of, or at least some of them, and was quiet for a long moment. "I know some of what has you down, but it can't _last_ ," she said in decisive exasperation, as if her two cents were the final ones on the matter. "They're both too..." What summarized it? "Proud," Irene chose, for pride covered much, lifting her chin in a gesture to fit it.

Seb snorted. Good word, but not the one he'd use. "Completely off their gourds, you mean." He shook his head slowly. "Of course it can't last. But ten years, and casts me aside-" Christ. He was talking about Jim again. Cursed woman. He bit his tongue, forcing another sip to silence himself.

Irene sipped silently. Last she'd heard of the Adventures Of Jim's Pursuit Of Sherlock, the detective had warmed to him, but that was months ago. That Sebastian was still upset by it... Irene had never been with someone for ten years, mind, but that the rather attractive sniper on her sofa hadn't found someone else by now...but he'd belonged to James Moriarty in many respects. Irene had the distinct sense she was missing some crucial piece of this puzzle, but hadn't been supposed to talk about James in the first place. Still, Sebastian had her sympathies; with Irene, these came in the form of gossip. "Probably without even the good sense to be discreet about it," she murmured thoughtfully, sighing. "Tell me he doesn't have him over when you're home?"

"Not in the  _physical_ sense, no." Sebastian knew he shouldn't be talking about this. Made the knot in his chest tighten. "But the moaning of his fucking name once when we were  _intimate_ was far worse...He isn't exactly the master of subtlety." He scowled, willing tears not to form when he said Home. No. Seb's home - with Jim - for over ten years, cheesy as that was, was no longer in the picture. "As for _now_ , we don't live together anymore, so it's not an issue if he has him over or not."

Irene hadn't meant to hurt Sebastian with all this; she did, though, know the value in being able to vent, in so tight a social circle as their own, to someone familiar. She was playing the role of listener for the moment, and listening yielded the missing piece: something had happened recently, and her favorite pair of rascals was truly unpaired. "Oh," Irene said in obvious surprise. "Well, I...didn't know that." Hopefully it would be enough of an apologetic statement, because any actual one would sound like pity - even if the sorrow in Sebastian's voice was obvious, he'd bristle so at pity. She set down her coffee, hands folding in her lap. "Suppose we needn't  _permission_ for Paris, after all. That's a relief."

Seb scoffed, but not maliciously. Just at how ludicrous asking for permission sounded at this point. "I imagine I'll give him forewarning. There's a job I'm doing this week, but not on schedule yet for much else." He sucked the inside of his cheek. "S'pose he's worried I'll run off again. Not without good reason, mind you, but he's gotten...judicious, in regards to me." Oh.  What Irene was out-of-the-loop on seemed almost comically large. Had so much really changed in just a few months? Whole lives completely thrown into chaos. Chaos on which Jim thrived.

"How so? Not that I'm not pleased to hear he's being judicious about _some_ thing," Irene snarked lightly, reclaiming her coffee, licking extra drops off her lips after swallowing. Apparently, Don't Talk About Jim was off the table now, and that seemed a good thing, for Sebastian wouldn't have really cared about the home redecorating, and she wouldn't have cared to discuss work. Plus...Sherlock had thought himself so clever, turning Irene back at every chance.  She wasn't a woman scorned, not at all, but found some cosmic, karmic amusement in she and Sebastian running off for awhile whilst the proud, stubborn manchildren found their way with each other. She was fond of all of them, but Sebastian needed her most. They wouldn't even need to have sex for the news of the Paris trip to raise both consultants' eyebrows. It was the petty victories in life that counted sometimes.

He sighed softly. "Careful. I suppose. Like I'll run off at any moment. I...I don't even think he's bothered to be  _near_ me in weeks. Had my stuff sent to my new place by a lackey. Requests I get the rest when he's not around." Seb shook his head. "I just don't get it. He forced me to leave, right? So I did. And I stayed gone, then he told me he missed me - which for Jim is practically a love sonnet - so I came back. And the second he sees me, he tells me to...let him _go_..." He pulled at his hair in frustration. "But I _did_ , I was _gone_..."

Irene's expression softened as she took it in. James had put the man through hell, and from the sound of it, hoped to put him through more. "He probably did miss you," she affirmed, nodding slightly. "Doesn't know what to do without you, I imagine, and he's not used to hearing No, you know that." She spoke firmly, well enough acquainted with James' ways. "When it all cracks apart with dear Sherlock, as we both know it will...he will need you, Sebastian." Irene leaned forward some, sympathetic in tone. "But that doesn't mean you should stick around to wait."

"I know." And oh, did Sebastian know. He should leave. But Jim would always pull him back. "I know he'll need me.  But he'll just leave me for the next interesting toy to come along..." Was it pathetic to cling onto the hope there wouldn't be anything as interesting? Yes. "Because he doesn't love me."

Irene sighed, elbow resting on her knee, chin in hand. She didn't think James loved Sherlock, either, was merely obsessed with him. "He cares about you as best as he knows how," she said delicately - not a denial of Sebastian's words but she'd seen enough evidence over the years to prove her own. "You can't help wanting what you want, so saying you could do better for yourself, is no help at all. But I think you know what you  _need_ to do if you ever want to get a decent night's sleep again in your life." Standing from the chair she set her mug down, walking over to Sebastian where she leaned over, gracing his forehead with a gentle, sisterly kiss, leaving a tiny smudge of lipstick behind. "You'll be alright, I know it."

Seb, despite himself, smiled, blushing at the rather affectionate gesture. "You are something else." For once, he actually believed it. That he'd be alright. But. Happy seemed to be almost out of the question. At least, while Jim was half in the picture. "Things'll...play out, as they play out. But...do I leave entirely, or stick by the wanker?"

The compliment warmed her differently than most she received, for it was of a different nature, and born from actually being there for someone when needed - not in the name of kinks or money, but actual caring, and that Sebastian didn't just grumble in response was very sweet. He was the best of them, really. There were boys and there were men, and he was the latter. Standing up straight, Irene folded her arms loosely, eyes going wide at the question, tongue clicking in chastisement. "Now, you know I can't answer that. Not out of any loyalty to either of them, but that it's not my place at all." Her head tilted downward, almost a nod, to get him to meet her eyes, make sure he understood. "Wait, darling. See how you feel in Paris, compared to here. Whether the taste of freedom appeals, or does not. He wants you to continue working, that much is clear, but whether you do is your choice. Nobody can make it for you. That's always the most difficult part of things, I know."

Seb puffed out his bottom lip, pouting in true Jim-style. "I did that once. I liked freedom. Liked no one knowing who I was. I liked..." He had his answer. But whatever love and care he still felt for Jim compelled him to stay - if only to console him when he broke his own heart. "I liked that I didn't have to feel the pain of seeing him..."

Irene gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I know one thing for certain, he hardly deserves you," she murmured, just as the doorbell rang. "Oh, drat." She glanced up and at the foyer. "That would be brunch, sit tight..." And then she was gone, a brisk and tall sashay out of the room to acquire the promised hangover cure, leaving Sebastian with his thoughts.

Jim doesn't deserve him? That was for sure. Wait. He'd heard that before. Faintly. The sound was muffled. But who else would say that? His co-workers wouldn't  _dare_ say something treasonous. And not many other people were in his life. But the voice... He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking back. It might've been years for how fuzzy it was. But, it had to be recent. Oh. "Jim..." he whispered, that slight lilt hitting his temporal lobe. A vague picture of that beautiful face crying flashed in his mind...Jim had been _crying_? That made no sense. A dream, must've been a dream... But doubt lingered. Felt...almost too real. The touch of his skin, the chill of his tears...Falling asleep with Jim in sight, in the flat...

Irene carried two styrofoam containers and a paper bag when she returned, hoping the food might help Sebastian overall in centering himself. She only felt so bad speaking ill of James; she'd only uttered truths, after all, and when she returned Sebastian had the look of one who'd seen a ghost. Hm. She set the food down, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him. "Hungry?"

Seb nodded once. "Yeah, thanks..." He stared at the containers but wasn't really staring  _at_ them so much as _past_ , though his olfaction was still intact. "Smells good, whatever it is..."

Irene's brows knitted; he'd warned of the hangover and being less than conversational, but that distanced look was new. "I'll get plates," she offered, off again to the kitchen. Perhaps he needed the thinking time, and she shouldn't have pressed him to come...but no. What little insight she could offer, seemed what he needed to hear. Either way, she took extra time gathering plates and silver and bringing them back in, setting the coffee table just so before opening containers. Potatoes, bacon, eggs with cheese, and a smaller container of salad and salmon for herself. "If you'd prefer a change of topic, dear, quite understandable."

Seb blinked a few times, pulling the food closer to him. "Looks amazing," he said dreamily, as if ignoring her words. But really, he was just looking for the right reply, one that wouldn't sound crazy, dazed or unsure. But he  _was_ unsure. Taking a fork he began to tuck into his food, opting to try and seem lighthearted about it. "I think Jim...was at my flat last night."

Irene sat and shifted the salmon onto her plate, along with a few chunks of the potato daintily stolen with her fork, and had just bitten into one when she paused chewing. "But-" Holding up a finger, she swallowed. "But I thought you said he hadn't been near you as of late?"

"I was  _really_ drunk last night." Sebastian would've laughed at the situation - blackout drunk, really? - if he weren't so freaked out. "But...I started getting some foggy memories...I think. I don't know. He was crying...except, you know, Jim doesn't cry..."

Irene had to wonder if Sebastian had dreamed this, though the final sentence gave her pause.  Beginning to slice the salmon with a fork, she cleared her throat, eyes on her plate. "...No, he doesn't..." Except that she'd heard him do so once. Not seen. It was only over the phone, on an apparently distressing evening two years ago, when Sebastian had been out of town and Jim must have needed someone to talk to. But reminders of the man's vulnerability were not what Sebastian needed to hear, if indeed he wished to save himself. "Would he have simply...shown up, without word?" She looked back up. "Given current circumstances, I'm  not sure even he's that cruel..."

"No. He'd been avoiding me..." Seb frowned, poking at his food before taking a big bite, pondering as he chewed. "Hmm..." Must've had a good reason. "He said...the same thing you did, that he didn't deserve me," he mused, "Which doesn't sound like him at all, being humble like that." Sebastian shrugged. "He probably missed his meds."

Irene leveled her gaze at Sebastian, pointing with her fork. "Check your phone? If you were that drunk, perhaps you texted and forgot," she suggested, definitely concerned Sebastian had dreamed it, and hoping for proof otherwise.

"Oh!" Seb knitted his brow. Yes. There must be some record. He pulled out his mobile. Sure enough, there was a text from Jim. "Well...one says he was downstairs at my place around...4 AM..." Seb replied he'd be safe if he let himself up. So...he was there. At least for a little while. But...There seemed to be something desperate in the messages he re-read, though they didn't make a lot of sense from where he was sitting. Was he...suicidal? He didn't recall feeling that way, but things had gotten blurry after Addy left, and that was before midnight...

"Oh, good. Well. Somewhat." Carefully watching Sebastian's expressions as he scrolled through, Irene chewed another bite of salmon in thought before suggesting, "If you'd like privacy to ring him..."

Seb shook his head. "I wouldn't know what to say, frankly." He pocketed the mobile, still trying to pick through the haze for the actual memories. "It's confusing. He...I fell asleep on him, I think he stayed, but left before I got up."

Irene pressed her lips tightly together but couldn't help adding, "Perhaps he didn't know what to say, either?" It seemed so simple but as soon as it was blurted out, seemed quite possibly close to the truth. She sighed. "Ten years is a long time, Sebastian. Hard to say what he may do to cope, or why. Not! that he didn't choose this, mind. But he's always acted...unpredictably." She speared another bite, savoring it.

"He's doing  _Holmes_ to cope," Sebastian grumbled. "Well. Not _doing_ , but close, based on body language and whatnot." He rolled his eyes, taking another large bite. 

Eyes widening comically, Irene sputtered, nearly choking on the remainder of the bite. She coughed and brought the mug to her lips, washing it down, and straightened in her chair as she set it back on the tray, unable to find the proper admonishment for Sebastian's comment nearly killing her, or the sudden mental image, or the minuscule stab of what may have been jealousy...

"Horrifying, innit?" Seb asked, a teensy bit amused by Irene's strong reaction. If it weren't so painful he would've done the same.  Rather, he tried to destroy that relationship. But. Alas. Evil wins out.

That was one word for it...Very likely the best one. "Is the sustenance helping, at least? With the hangover."

"Certainly helpful. Distracted from the pain, at least. Which is quickly fading." It was nice overall to have a friend in this, and he offered up a small smile in appreciation. "Memory's still fuzzy, though."

"Then I do recommend calling, difficult as it may be. See if his version of events corroborates the texts...Entirely your decision, of course, but what I would do if I couldn't recall." She chewed a potato bite and smirked after swallowing. "If you woke up _clothed_ , keep in mind things could be much _more_ unsettling."

"I woke up very well dressed, thank you very much," Seb growled. God. Sex with Jim was the  _last_ thing he needed. "I'd just be his surrogate for Holmes, anyway," he added bitterly, taking another sip of coffee. But calling Jim...what would he even say? "Guess I'll ring him about going with you. Ask about last night, while I'm on the line. But no promises anything juicy'll come up."

"Well, I wasn't planning on listening in," Irene said pointedly, giving him a Look. She hadn't even asked what was in the rest of the texts, wasn't that a polite distance? It was their matter to settle, no matter what she knew of it. The next bit of salmon was sliced away from the whole with a little more force than necessary. 

"Come off it, didn't mean it like _that_ ," Sebastian blinked. "I meant that I'd tell you, because you're possibly the only other person he's even  _slightly_ confided in. But that...from experience, if anything worthwhile happened, he won't tell me about it." 

Irene nodded, raising the bite to her mouth and smiling again, a little deviously, as she chewed and swallowed. "I do wonder what he'll make of Paris,"; she met Sebastian's gaze, a twinkle in her sharp blue eyes. Yes, it was mean, but could still only encourage him.

Sebastian smirked back. "I imagine he'll be jealous, but of which one of us?" He snickered. "Maybe both? Kicking himself that he can't join, poor thing is all tied down now."

Irene's eyebrows raised, mouth closed tightly as she made to suppress, and thus enhance, the mirth. Oh, yes, Sebastian was feeling better, and it was good to see. "That's...oh, it's so unfortunate, I weep for them both," Irene managed, finally letting the laugh out, covering her mouth with her hand. It was terrible! Sebastian would come down from the humor eventually and hate her for it, but...well, she'd never heard of a bigger  _mess_ in all her life.

"Well. I don't. But I will enjoy hearing him put on his 'I'm Definitely Not Having An Emotion Right Now' voice..." he said, mocking  Jim's accent and higher inflection.

Irene rolled her eyes, biting her lip as she contained the amusement again. Something about Sebastian's smirk was infection, could make one giddy from charm even if one were not predisposed to being charmed in earnest by men. "Oh, just ring him already, before the suspense kills us both."  
"

Yes, Ms. Adler," Sebastian teased, rolling his eyes. He was really going to call and taunt Jim! Almost seemed...not entirely right, especially without all the facts. But he supposed that's what it was for.  Discovery. He found Jim's number and hit Call.

Naturally Irene wondered whether taking Jim lightly was the wisest thing...oh, of course it was, he needed winding-up just as often as Sebastian could benefit from doing the winding! She sat back, plate in hand, finishing off the last few bites of salmon before gesturing vaguely at the wide doors. "Oh, did you want me to...?"  

_'run, neon tiger, there's a lot on your mind, promise just to pet you, never let em get you'_ \- "The fuuuuck..." Jim groaned, dragging an arm over his eyes before rolling over, reaching for his mobile and pressing Answer. "I was napping, what," he mumbled irritably against the phone, too still-asleep to even register that Sebastian calling was of any significance at all.

Seb shrugged, hand over the receiver. "Up to you...Oh, yeah, when are we leaving for Paris?" It was a moment before Jim answered, sounding none too happy. Hm. Suppose neither of them got very good sleep. "Um...Hey, boss. Thought I'd tell you I got an interesting job offer."

"Next week," Irene mouthed back, deciding to stay for now, but only as the conversation involved her interests. That was polite, she decided, stealing one more hunk of potato from Sebastian's container.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. So Seb  _was_ going to leave. But not die. Okay. Okay. "Does it conflict w'Monday or have you dropped that one too?" Jim slurred. He wasn't sure how much more of the back-and-forth he could take, but...at least Seb sounded in a better mood than yesterday.

Sebastian nodded to Irene, focusing on the conversation. "Oh, not at all. Irene is just borrowing me next week. All next week. Some dire situation in France.  Needs a bodyguard." Casual mention of Irene. France. Being around her for protection. The whole week.  Should be enough for Jim's mind to start working paranoiac circles, even if they had little bearing on reality.

Jim sat up slowly, blinking, brow furrowed. Irene.  And Seb. Yeah, _okay_. He couldn't really wrap his head around  _that_ one. A week. What if Sebastian...got rough with her? What if  _she_ got rough with _him_? Jesus shit, what if they were having a pow-wow right now just to drive him nuts? Then again. She could be helpful at dark times, and Sebastian didn't want Jim's friendship. Had to find some elsewhere, as trustworthy as any of their ilk could hope for. He ran a hand through his hair, nodding. "I didn't have you on schedule for anything, so...yeah, sure, fine. Is that what she was texting about?"

"Oh, so you  _got_ those texts?" Seb asked playfully, glancing over at Irene. "Yeah. Real shame you ignored them. She wanted you to come along, too..." He suppressed a laugh. Oh. He could /definitely/ picture Jim's face, hear the poorly concealed cogs running in his brain. But just how cruel should he be? He let a questioning expression silently ask Irene.

Irene tittered against her coffee mug, wiggling one finger as if to say Naughty - but wasn't discouraging this vastly-improved, more Sebastian-like version of the man. It was a transformation that had occurred before her eyes. This was the rascal she wanted watching her back.

Jim was baffled at the change in tone from the night before. "Well, I wouldn't have," he insisted, voice husky still but more alert, a little annoyed. Why was Bastian taunting him again? Oh, right. Because that was how he got his kicks nowadays. "Wouldn't exactly feel welcome."

"Unwelcome? Please..." Seb smirked. "I always thought you looked so pretty with a few welts." Christ, the  _memory_ of that was enough to drag his teeth across his lower lip. And the reality that as much as Jim would enjoy it, he  _had_ to decline; his pitiful new conscience dictated it. "She does, too. Though annoyed you didn't answer her. Thought you were  _shunning_ her or something, boss."

Jim's jaw dropped as he let out a slow breath. This had gone from taunting to offensive, and from the authority with which Sebastian spoke, Jim's certainty that Irene was in the same room rose. But it only mattered so much - hers was a gentler kind of cruelty, and Sebastian was acting as if he didn't remember anything about last night... Jim sighed, chin dropping to his bare chest. Great. "Nice to know drinking to forget is working out for you, tiger," he stated sullenly.

A sharp stab through his heart. So. Jim had worked out the second part of the call. Figures. Something did happen, then, if it was big enough to shock Jim that Seb wasn't immediately on him about it. "...Take it you were sober, then?"

Irene decided now was a lovely time to slip out of the chair, and gave Sebastian a small smile of encouragement before moving to the kitchen with her plate. She almost felt bad for Jim...For all of them, really. Oh, Sebastian was strong, he'd be fine. But the Lost Boys...who knew...

Jim rolled his eyes - hit the nail on the head there. "I was. Yeah. I was sober and worried about you, in fact. If you need proof, roll up your left sleeve, moron." Rubbing a hand down the side of his face, Jim sighed heavily.

Seb smiled gratefully at Irene as she exited. She was...almost unfairly, cruelly wonderful at reading people and situations. Seb furrowed his brows at the command, but followed it. "Ah..." he breathed. Hadn't even felt the new burns at all. "Thought my arms itched a little..."

Jim was shaking his head slowly, a look of blank despair in his eyes. "I tried...being a friend, or something. Pity you don't remember." Jim swallowed hard. "Even asked Sherlock how to look after someone in the state your texts made me think you were in. Not that he had any idea."

"Funny your boyfriend wouldn't know..." Seb muttered darkly, but shook his head. This wasn't worth it. "Thanks for trying, Jim, but..." He exhaled a weary sigh. "But I don't think we'll ever be friends. I'm your bodyguard. One who knows way too much about you, but an employee no less. Sorry I tried to make it more than that."

The heaviness of Sebastian's statement hit Jim hard, as similar ones had the night before. How could Sebastian be  _this_ cruel? There were things  _only_ Sebastian knew, yet...Revenge, of course. Fine, whatever - the plaster needed ripping. Jim could handle the harshness, couldn't he? Then Seb followed by sensible shit he wanted to mean and didn't? But that he needed to say to convince himself, obviously. Jim's face was a mask of a sneer. "...So am I. I'm going back to sleep."

"...Is there anything else I should know?" Seb couldn't help but ask tentatively, still trying to piece it together. "I honestly don't remember much, except...Tears, if that wasn't actually a dream." He'd suddenly hit a bundle of emotions he hadn't known were there. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Things he probably shouldn't have dug for, but it was too late now to turn back.

Jim had subconsciously drawn a pillow - the one that Sebastian usually used - to his chest. Could he forgive Seb getting blackout drunk? Well, it was probably Jim's fault, so sure. What else should Seb know from the night before? That he'd been a fucking asshole? That they'd purged thoughts and shed some tears and not been able to get anywhere, despite not really wanting to let the other go completely? "It wasn't a dream, Sebastian. It was a nightmare. And it sounds like we've both woken up." Jim let that hang down the line between them a moment before he drew the phone away from his ear, and hit End Call.

_Well. King of Riddles strikes again._ Seb knew the line would go dead, so he just dropped the mobile. Stupid. Stupid to think he'd get anything out of him. Hadn't he told Irene Jim wouldn't be forthcoming about anything more emotional than a documentary on Helvetica font? How he'd pay for his own words, despite their truth. They weren't friends. There was too much  _pain_ waiting below that trap door.

Irene had done a few dishes that were sitting in the sink, the hiss of the water enough to drown out the conversation, only aware it was over when her own phone buzzed against the counter and she unlocked it to a text. Pursing her lips in thought, she strode back into the sitting room, leaning against the wall, eyes on her phone rather than Sebastian. "Well, he finally texted back..."

"What'd he say?" Seb grunted, considering smashing his own mobile. When did this all get so complicated? Or...at the very least, when did all become about _disdain_?

Irene shrugged, looking up at the sniper. "Just: 'have fun in Paris.'"

"He's quite pissed off, then," Seb clarified. "Deserve that, I guess." He stood up, legs suddenly unsteady, but he hid it well. "I...should consider starting my day."

Irene sighed softly, and crossed the room to him, a sympathetic smile granted Sebastian's way. "Let him. I think we'll have a wonderful time, don't you?"

"I know we will - you're always the life of  _any_ party," Seb smiled back sadly. "Doesn't mean I won't miss him."

_You'll do that whether in Paris or anywhere else_. Irene clicked her tongue, and reached up to give Sebastian's scarred cheek a fond caress. "I know, only trying to cheer you up. You'll call me if you need anything, yes? Even if just to pop round for a nightcap? Unless I'm working, you're most welcome."

Seb leaned into the touch. "Of course, Irene." He placed his large hand over hers, pulling it down to kiss the back of it gently. Always a gentleman where the astounding Ms. Adler was concerned. "As always, come to me when you need a strong arm." He disengaged himself slowly, walking back to his shoes.

Jim was a fool to let him go, Irene thought - but Jim might always call him back, and Seb might always answer. Making him a fool as well, but a braver one she'd never known. She waited to hear the click of the front door closing before sighing, and walked over to the curtains, opening them back up to whatever passed in London for sunshine.


	8. Sheriarty - date night, fluff, smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Sheriarty
> 
> contents: their date, romance, then a bit of smut before the smut ends abruptly so don't get too comfy tbh
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> same day as previous chapter]

Jim had arranged everything just so, as dimming down the museum's security went. The actual breaking in was a matter of a trick to a basement window - Sherlock would likely report that soon, but Jim didn't mind. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet upon meeting with Sherlock and getting in, which may have been chalked up to nervous about /acting/ the crime rather than simply brainstorming. Of course there were other reasons, but it was after midnight, ergo a new days, and with Sherlock at his side - and joining in!  the quiet had become a less somber sort. It had only taken re-reading earlier texts, to soothe him after troubles with Seb. In the basement that was all vaults and offices, Jim closed the window behind them. "Be sort of fun to explore down here, too..." he murmured, pulling a flashlight out of his pocket and revealing portions of shelves at a time - old pottery. He reached for Sherlock's hand. "But which was the exhibit you wanted to see?"

Sherlock half-glared. "Remember: no stealing for your own personal collection." Then he took a lighter tone as he inspected the window, ensuring it was truly shut behind them. "Upstairs. There's a display of medieval torture devices. Thought it'd make a nice reference for future cases." He stepped beside Jim, entwining their fingers, blissfully unaware of Jim's turmoil.

"Yes, mother," Jim agreed airily, looking up at Sherlock all raised eyebrows and smirk, considering slipping a random chunk of anything small into his pocket when Sherlock wasn't paying attention, just to buck the system. The smirk remained in response to the intended exhibit, Jim eyeing the flashlit hall ahead of them as he led the other slowly down it towards the door to upstairs. "Kinky," he muttered, silently preoccupied with hoping he'd disarmed everything properly as they reached the door. It felt good to have Sherlock's hand in his own, good to even just heart his voice again after the impersonal medium of texts.

"Of course you would say that, looking at a device that crushes the jaws of the victim by pressuring either side of the skull..." Sherlock said, starting out with annoyance, but by the end turned fascinated whisper, leaning over the rusted, iron device. "Amazing," he whispered.

"Admittedly extreme for the bedroom..." Jim replied lightly, eyeing the implement of torture until his gaze roamed helplessly to Sherlock's face, the half-shadow half-light of the exhibit spotlights making him even more beautiful than usual. Amazing, indeed... Jim looked back at the case, and pointed a finger at the glass. "Used to use those on suspected witches," he said, staring at the thumbscrew device, shivering slightly just imagining it, voice turning deeper in a departure from self, sarcastic, showmanlike. "Pesky case of ergot poisoning? Oh, we'll just _crush your fucking thumbs_ , that should clear that right up..."

Sherlock's eyes flickered toward it. "Oh, yes. Let's just torture you, see if you still tell the same story..." Then he walked away from the display case, wandering over to the larger devices. "Mm...They got the Iron Maiden on loan from Nuremburg..." he mused almost too admiringly, pulling on his leather gloves so he could run his fingers over it. "Spikes not instantly fatal," his voice had dropped to a near-reverent whisper. "Death by slow bleeding out..."

It was funny, this little 'date' compared to the earlier texts; incongruous. Yet somehow fitting, as much of Jim's existence felt like torture as of late. Except, of course, for the darling beside him, Jim licking his lips as he watched Sherlock tug on the glove. It was almost erotic, as was Sherlock's hushed, fascinated note. One side of Jim's mouth curved up in a lazy smile, and he couldn't quite resist leaning up behind the detective, wrapping an arm about his waist. "Mm, love the look on your face when you're talking about murder..." he purred, smiling, sufficiently distracted from the events of the day, things he hadn't bothered to tell Sherlock lest it ruin the mood, and focused on enjoying the moment.

Sherlock leaned back against Jim, relaxing into his embrace, eyes out of focus, closing. "It's one of my very favorite subjects," he said softly. "You've always provided me with the best of the best. Thank you."

Both arms now wound around the trim waist, Jim's eyes closing too as he simply held to Sherlock, breathing him in. All but clinging to him in body and mind, dark curls tickling his forehead. "Anything for you, darling," he vowed, peering at the metal beast over Sherlock's shoulder. It was perhaps repetitive, as it was quite clear Jim would do, risk, lose anything for the sake of keeping his soulmate close. And he didn't ask for much in return - nothing Sherlock would not willingly give. Undeniably, notably less selfish than things had been with Sebastian!, he assured himself silently. On tiptoes, he kissed what of Sherlock's cheek he could reach, arms slipping begrudgingly away before he wandered over to the next glass case.

Sherlock bristled somewhat as Jim walked away. Well, he supposed they weren't here to cuddle, precisely. That was for behind other closed doors, without any surveillance that needed disabling. He watched Jim wander a bit before returning to his inspections; the rack was a tad cliche by now, a household name, so he moved onto the wheel, one of equal diabolical use. "Not torture in and of itself," he claimed, "But that was for others to decide. Fire, or metal spikes..."

Jim had been staring at the Pear of Anguish in abject horror, not even wanting to  _think_ about that one, when Sherlock spoke. He glanced over at the wheel. "Could have been more creative, really," he proposed, completely theoretical. "Sandpaper...Some angry animal on its back, striking up at every swing with its claws...Cactuses, trough of acid, wasted opportunities, there."

Sherlock meandered over to Jim, reading the placard, wrinkling his nose distastefully. "Of course you'd be examining  _that_ contraption..." He kept his eyes trained on Jim. "And extremely inappropriate for this date, seeing as it was mostly used on homosexuals."

"You chose the date," Jim reminded him, tone not one of approval or its opposite, shrugging slightly. So long as he was with Sherlock, it didn't matter how the time was spent, but to give Jim even the smallest bit of hell over looking at what amounted to just one of an extremely morbid collection, came off a little odd. Prudish, even? "Makes me glad we're around _now_ , though, rather than then..."

Sherlock hummed in assent. For many reasons. "Actually, you'd probably have been killed for being left-handed before you got the chance to really live." He shrugged, walking off to look at a rather impressive collection of iron pokers and hooks.

Jim smiled, watching Sherlock as he strode away. "And you'd have been put in The Coffin for announcing some king's bedroom habits, weird favorite snack, and syphilis in front of the entire court. Both of us, doomed without even trying."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please. My lack of tact would've gotten myself executed at least half a dozen times before I even made it to the King's court."

Chuckling, Jim found his way over to Sherlock again. "Nah. Not if I'd been the King. Couldn't have helped but to spare you. Orders from on high, and all: don't kill that one, he's too pretty."

"And I would've been...just as confused by this information as I am now," Sherlock replied, still baffled by how Jim could possibly find him attractive. Enough to spare him! "But. I imagine you might've found some use for me, managing your empire."

Jim shook his head slightly, meeting Sherlock's eyes. Ridiculous. How did Sherlock not realize he was more stunning to look at than a room full of black market diamonds? (Jim would know, he'd seen such.) But he must not have, as humility had never been a strong suit regarding points on which Sherlock  _was_ sure. Good clothes and hair aside,  Jim knew he wasn't half as beautiful as Sherlock was. They were matched in almost every way, but for that. "Pretty  _and_ clever," Jim amended soberly, pondering what Sherlock's role may have been other than Sleeps In The King's Bed And Poses For Statues On Occasion. Not knight - that would be Sebastian. "Well, worth sharing the kingdom, though if some lesser position put us on equal footing, I'd step down to that one." He sounded serious about that; from one whose own empire felt more difficult of late to handle, it made sense. "Ruling the land would get boring."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not a leader, though I appreciate the offer." He turned to Jim, leaning over for a soft, chaste kiss, not entirely aware of what he said next as it tumbled out. "I think I'd always be glad to find my other half."

Jim tilted his head up to accept the kiss, eyes closing with it, only to open again slowly, stunned at Sherlock's words. The world thought it was John Watson, completing a man who on the outside seemed content and complete enough.  But Jim knew better on both counts, and to hear his own vision of things mirrored...all of Sebastian's harsh, hurtful warnings defied...this was all Jim needed. He'd fear Sherlock less, now. Jim's heart seemed to clench in his chest and slowly he leaned in, wrapping his arms around the other, resting his cheek on Sherlock's shoulder. Love amidst torture devices. Pain, outdated. He was touched, even to let slip one of the things he hadn't told Sherlock, about why midnight and beyond had been a good time. "I think...that's the best birthday present I've ever gotten..."

Sherlock turned this information over in his head. Of course, a birthday was just another day to him. But.  It was special, in its own way now, the day this undeserving world received such a gift as Jim Moriarty. Of the many things he should've said, wanted to say, some beautiful, he only managed a soft chuckle alongside, "Happy birthday." His arms wound tighter around Jim. "But now I'm not going to forget it."

After such a stressful few days - strings and heaps of those lately - it meant much to hear two cliche words. "I don't really celebrate it....Weren't many reasons to, but..." He lifted his head and gave Sherlock another light kiss. "Thanks." 

"Mm..." Sherlock hummed, leaning down slightly, kissing the pinna of Jim's ear. His voice was a low whisper, almost enough for Jim not to hear, as if Sherlock half-wished he mightn't. "I love you."

An incredulous half-laugh half-cry left Jim's lips, and he clutched Sherlock tighter. "You...asshole, quit making me feel things," Jim groaned, lifting his head again, running a hand through the detective's pretty curls, eyes sparkling as they met Sherlock's. He wet his lips. "Love you, too. Whole lot."

Sherlock knitted his brow. "I wasn't trying to do anything..." He blinked. "I didn't realize it'd be a problem to tell you."

Jim grinned in disbelief, hand in Sherlock's hair firmer, drawing him down. "Shut up and kiss me."

Sherlock obliged, leaning over, lacing his hands around Jim's waist, kissing him softly, enjoying the brush of warm lips and stubble.

Sinking against Sherlock, into the moment, time seemed to cease, souls fusing at the contact point of lips. When at last the kiss ended, Jim appeared dazed, blinking slowly, smiling still. He had stolen something tonight, after all, the only thing he really wanted: Sherlock's heart. His heads stroked down sharp cheekbones, long neck, shoulders, before he seemed to remember where they stood and why. "What do you want to see next?" he asked in a hush, trying to overcome the onslaught of emotions, carry it in to the next minutes more casually. 

Breathless, heart pounding, Sherlock tried to process the question. This was ridiculous! Being in love had forced him into this haze...Looking at Jim and feeling a shimmer through his blood, as if he were connected to him on some metaphysical level. He hoped that Jim felt the same way, but he couldn't imagine the gravity of this feeling transferring to someone else. "I...I believe it's traditional that the person whose birthday it is, gets to pick."

"Mmm, let's explore," Jim decided, head oscillating as he spoke again, eyebrows raised. "Very curious to know which ones you think are fakes." His smile was charming, teasing and challenging Sherlock as fun as kissing him.

Sherlock narrowd his eyes. "Your work, I'm assuming?" Well. Jim didn't do it  _this_ evening, and that was a step in itself. Without waiting for an answer, he barreled on. "And clearly The Fighting Temeraire is a forgery."

"Oh, you're an art expert now, too? Impressive..." Jim teased, meaning to move them along to explore, but...not really able to step away from, or look at anything that wasn't, Sherlock.  
"

Not on art, no," Sherlock huffed, a bit annoyed whenever he had to admit to such a thing. "But I make it my business to know all about  _how_ art is forged."

God, but if they were anywhere else, Jim would be intent on getting Sherlock to elaborate, then flustering him too much to do so. He did consider it. "That's very sexy," Jim admitted wryly, only 20% pulling Sherlock's leg. Successful forgeries were gorgeous and clever, just like his lover.

Sherlock quirked a brow. "You have...interesting standards," he pointed out dubiously. But it was more his speed, mental prowess and skills being appreciated over the physical. However. That didn't stop him from retaliatory remarks. "But I suppose my eye for honing in on flaws has prevented me from observing what's beautiful in the world..." He brought a hand up, gently stroking Jim's face. "Hard to look away now that I've seen it."

Interesting was right, Jim agreed mentally, as Sherlock's voice rumbled on, the criminal's line of sight dropping to the rising hand, wrist, before locking with Sherlock's gaze once more. Ooh, those eyes. Clear aquatic pools with a decently sized black hole in the middle. Jim could feel warmth under his skin, maybe just from Sherlock's hand but it seemed possible he was blushing. The science of seduction, over here! Rather heady. Jim licked his lips again, momentarily speechless. "Well. Aren't you a charmer," he breathed.

"That's not something I often hear," Sherlock smirked, leaning in for another kiss, slow, soft, weaving his hands along the fine lines of Jim's suit.

A delightful shiver crept down Jim's back. Sherlock may not have been  _trying_ for anything before, but it seemed likely now he was aiming to get an inappropriately timed rise out of Jim, and wasn't that far from succeeding. Tongue darting out to trace along Sherlock's lower lip, Jim suddenly felt much for backing his sweetheart against a glass case and pouncing him. The quietest of pleased moans purring in his throat, Jim's hands found Sherlock's waist, slipping further down to give his gorgeous arse a squeeze. "So many priceless works of art here," he murmured, "And the only one I want to take home, is you."

Sherlock flinched, giving an involuntary grind of his hips against Jim's. "Art, hm?" he teased, biting Jim's lower lip lightly between his teeth, dragging, sucking gently before letting go. "I wouldn't mind."

There was little in the world Jim liked better than a playful Sherlock. Inhaling sharply at the tug, he pressed his hips right back, bodies flush against each other's. Jim's hands slipped into Sherlock's back pockets, just keeping him close, but in reality they couldn't remain too much longer. Leaving, taxi, all of these were necessary before actually getting home. Hard to break away, though. "Oh, good, I'd hate to think I was dragging you," Jim teased back. "Better be off, though, before you start...getting any ideas about all these  _fascinating_ torture devices..." 

Sherlock's eyes unconsciously flickered to the rack. But it was only a fraction of a second. Terrible idea, of course. He shook his head, unwinding his arms. "Probably for the best." He grabbed Jim's hand, tugging him back towards the basement to make their escape. "Though John is at the flat, so either we'll have to retire to yours or get creative."

Jim rolled his eyes, but was still smiling. 221B could be a tricky hangout, at times, and he didn't imagine the good doctor taking 'But it's his birthday' as a suitable excuse for Jim's presence, nor the potential racket he and Sherlock may raise. What a thought. "Mine, might be the safest route," Jim agreed as he fiddled with the window latch, even though the look on John's _face_....no, no, time spent at Baker Street dwellings should always be treated with care, and high off breaking into a museum with Sherlock, Jim was feeling on the careless side. He definitely was impatient to get out into the night and wherever it may lead. "After you," Jim offered, holding the window open. 

Sherlock crawled out of the window rather gracelessly, extending a hand to help Jim out after. "A bit high off the ground," he taunted.

Jim took the boost, crawling up and out with some difficulty before brushing his suit jacket down, straightening it. "I'm not gonna dignify that with a response," he said smoothly. "Though you might pay for it later. Should we leave the window open? Let the poor suckers know they have a weak spot?"

"Well..." Sherlock hesitated a moment before shutting the window with a shake of his head. "If we alert anyone to the presence of it, we might not be able to return."

Jim laughed, eyebrows arching, and he took the opportunity as soon as Sherlock stood to back the detective a step towards the museum's outer wall, still not able to detach himself for long. "My, my, honey. Aren't you supposed to be discouraging such...deplorable, criminal behavior?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, following Jim in step, caught in automatic sync with his motions. "Don't tell Lestrade," he smirked, shrugging to convey a more casual air, not entirely sure he wanted to dispel whatever pull he felt. It was...too delicious.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jim assured, knowing it was a bad plan to start up with more kisses but doing so anyway, a little more insistent than the oh-so-soft and tender ones they'd shared inside. Ssherlock being bad turned him on, so what? No court who laid eyes on the detective's smirk for five seconds could convict him without hypocrisy, for that.

It felt painfully adolescent - snogging behind a building, just out of sight, fresh off doing something illegal. Or it would've, had Sherlock done much snogging as a youth. Still. As Jim was on him, almost devouring him, he couldn't find it in himself to stop or even be ashamed.

"Ummm...right...taxi..." Jim muttered against Sherlock's lips between kisses, not really making the most convincing argument of all time that they should be on their way. He broke off only to trail kisses down Sherlock's neck, catching skin and sucking hard enough, he hoped, to leave a nice little mark.

"Jim!" Sherlock wheezed, meant to be a warning tone but it came out more of a moan. For Christ's sake, be couldn't be caught with a _hickey_! Yet...it was a tempting idea. He gripped at Jim's shoulders, reversing their positions quickly, pushing Jim against the wall, lips finding a spot just beneath his jaw.

If it was a surprise to Jim that this would end up the best sort of power struggle, it was a pleasant one. His shoulderblades hit the wall hard, head tipping back all too willingly. Yes, Sherlock should be allowed to mark him, why not, they belonged to each other, and the touch of teeth made Jim hiss, pull at the sides of Sherlock's shirt, pull him close. "Oh...this...we..." Taxi. Somewhere. Soon. If they could just keep their hands and mouths off each other long enough to hail one.

Sherlock sucked a dark mark onto the skin - he hadn't exactly done it before, though he knew the theory. A bit too hard, perhaps. But it'd do the trick. He hummed as he detached, pleased with himself. "Yes...Distracted..."

The things Sherlock's teeth were doing to Jim's ability to focus were disastrous. He shuddered, gasping softly, and experienced a horrible sense of loss when the sensation stopped. "Very. Shit. Um..." Jim ran a hand through his own hair, staring at the sky with a little laugh, grasping Sherlock's hand with the other. "Let's just...try and behave ourselves...for a minute..." If  _Jim_ was recommending good behavior, it was bound to start raining cats and dogs. He wanted Sherlock so badly, though, and thus tried to focus on the sky rather than the distraction in question, but squeezed the fingers in his own tightly, the tension a good sort. 

Sherlock nodded, humming softly as he leaned away, swaying slightly. "Yes. Recollect ourselves like adults..."

Jim nodded, laughing softly. Adult content abound, really; either of them should come with a warning label but together was even worse. There was something exhilarating about such things in public, too, but they couldn't afford potential trouble stemming from it. The night air was cool compared to the heat of kisses, and Jim sighed contentedly, still in quiet disbelief at the sentiments they'd exchanged. What few stars were visible seemed extra bright. "All your fault, simply can't help myself around you," he teased, glancing sidelong at Sherlock.

"I accept no responsibility, I hope you know," Sherlock chuckled, letting himself re-acclimate to his surroundings. A lot of /needs/ were suddenly less urgent when Jim wasn't currently kissing him, but that didn't mean his mind recovered as quickly. "You're completely mad, by the way."

"Says the man who was  _petting_ the Iron Maiden like he wanted to  _mate_ with it," Jim replied without missing a beat, smirking as he shoved off the wall, hand in Sherlock's. They absolutely deserved each other's madness. "Let's get out of here before you decide you'd rather spend the night with  _it_ than me." Down the vast grassy slope, towards the street.

"I wasn't looking at it like that," Sherlock grumbled, but went with Jim without further complaint, flagging down a cab once they reached the streets below.

Teasing Sherlock about what everyone else misunderstood, was a thing Jim would never do; teasing him about absurd exaggerations thereof, was far better. Snickering, he slid into the taxi and gave his address, leaning on Sherlock's shoulder, hand resting idly over his lover's knee. It was of minor concern, the earlier conversation, Jim only hoping that Seb didn't use the excuse of that uneasiness and Jim's birthday to return the favor of a visit... Didn't seem too likely, but the idea had Jim nibbling at a thumbnail automatically as he watched traffic out the window. No. Wouldn't happen. They were fine.

Sherlock lifted his hand and gently tugged Jim's abused hand away from his mouth, frowning. "Are you...alright? You've seemed a bit distracted tonight." There was a fleeting moment of panic buried in the question. He couldn't tell what this feeling was, but it made his stomach twist. Was Jim...nervous? Regretful? 

"Mm? Oh..." Jim blinked, and sighed softly. "I'm fine, now. Here. There was just some...unpleasantness, earlier in the day. Thought I slept it all off." He didn't wish to elaborate on Paris specifically, in case it bothered Sherlock, nor voice silly concerns about his own flat. Had just been a passing thought, really, one that was  _not_ allowed to disrupt the evening's better ones. Craning his neck up, he kissed Sherlock's cheek. "Appreciate you asking, though."

Sherlock's frown grew more pronounced. "Jim. Stop doing that." He shifted away from him, uncomfortable. "I ask these questions. Out of some human curiosity, that compels me to bond with you. And you...reject it at every turn," Sherlock lamented, voice hitching. Was he really getting  _emotional_ about this? He tried to stick to Reason. "How am I reasonably supposed to get close to you if you keep shutting me out? Or is that the point?"

Jim's gaze lowered to his lap. Of course, Sherlock was right. They'd been separate worlds before, but both revolved around  Jim, and things had changed some. And Sherlock wasn't just Jim's  _distraction_ anymore - he was his...partner. He deserved to be aware of these things, at least the most important parts. " _No_ ," he responded too quickly, too brusquely. "That's not the point. It's just...what I'm used to." He looked up at Sherlock, nerves and conscience rattled from upsetting the other. It showed on Jim's face that he regretted it, and he shook his head. "Sebastian...called earlier, and was...well, being a prat, really. Turns out he blacked out and forgot everything about the other night. Funny right? The one time I try to do something nice..." Exasperating.  Jim shrugged. "I can forget that crap, when I'm with you. It doesn't mean I'm trying to shut you out."

"Ah." Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what to say. It was...sweet, it its own way. Forgetting stress while around him. But. This seemed almost too heavy to approach. "I don't know if I should contribute, but...are you sure we should be doing this? You seem...conflicted."

Confusion drew Jim's brows tight together. He blinked. "Doing...what, going back to mine? I'm not conflicted about that."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I meant - Well. Never mind." He sighed, leaning back against Jim. "Thank you for telling me."

Wait, _what_? Jim nearly got whiplash with how sharply he turned his head to stare at the other. "Don't even." He put a finger to Sherlock's chin, demanding his attention. "Sherlock. I love you. And you're the only person I've said that to, since I was a child. I am  _not_ conflicted. I worry for him, and I worry he'll be finding ways to vent his hurt to the end of all our days. And don't you look at me like I'm going on too long to cover something up, because I want you to hear all this. Really hear it, yes? I can't begrudge him refusing my friendship, or making this hard for us. But nothing he can ever do, will make me regret any of it."

"You do begrudge him, though, that much is obvious," Sherlock shook his head as best as he could. "And how could you not?" His voice softened. "You're not exactly as heartless as you or I portray." Sherlock freed his chin, pressing a kiss to Jim's forehead. "And I don't hold any of it against you. For all of my reservations, I'd honestly worry if you  _weren't_ conflicted.

Jim's frown was a barely concealed pout. "Well...fine. It bothers me. But that doesn't make me conflicted." He sighed, leaning back, closing his eyes.

"Bothers you how, specifically?" Sherlock asked, bringing a hand up to stroke through Jim's hair.

Jim would have preferred to stay distracted, ignore these things, than be detailing them on his birthday. But Sherlock was forcing him to consider it in expressible ways. And if Sebastian wouldn't listen, and it was no longer cruel to have Sherlock do so, Jim may as well be out with it. "He wants more than I'll give him, and can't or won't settle for less. Every time we've talked recently, he's attacked me more than listened...and that's okay, I get where it's coming from, it's just...hard to take, at times. He  _is_ important to me, and I've been trying to  _bother_ to show him that, but aside from work I think he'd rather not hear from me at all. Can't blame him for that. Hate to lose him as a friend as much as my best gun, but it's all on him. Have to...remind myself, that I don't  _actually_ control everything under the sun," Jim finished quietly with a self-deprecating eyeroll.

"Difficult to remember we're mortal sometimes, isn't it?" Sherlock ventured, kissing the top of Jim's head.

Jim half-curled up to Sherlock despite the size of the backseat. "Something like that." Mortality had never bothered him much. But Sebastian slipping out from under his thumb, denying what little they might still have of each other...well, no matter how logical it was, it still _hurt_. Jim wound his arm over Sherlock's waist, and murmured softly, "You make me happy, though. In case you didn't know."

"I'm aware," Sherlock said, smiling fondly. "You're quite important to me, but you know this. Pointing out the obvious again..." And really, for the first time, he didn't feel quite so insecure about  Jim's sordid relationship with Moran. In fact, looking at it all, he seemed rather detached. Emotions had only temporarily muddled his judgement. 

Oddly, Jim did feel a little better getting some of it off his chest. Maybe now if there were problems with Sebastian, Sherlock would understand their roots, and not have to _worry_. If Seb even stuck around. He smiled faintly at the mention of the obvious. "Yes, how dreadfully boring," he drawled, tilting his head up again to give Sherlock a short, grateful peck on the lips. The taxi was only a few minutes away now from Jim's. "You know...sometimes I envy your John, and I think things, but...when it comes down to it, it's good he's there for you. It's not an exact comparison, I realize. But I do understand it."

Sherlock gave a tight smile. "Well. Yes. I suppose. But...he doesn't understand me." Sherlock held Jim close enough to smell his shampoo, cologne. "That's something only you've been able to do."

They'd covered that topic once at dinner, and Jim remembered how that turned out - no sense in beating it into Sherlock's brain how important just being there could be. He'd find out someday, or already had, or hopefully never would have to suffer the absence that was a lesson in and of itself. So Jim focused only on the sweet words. "Pff. I told you we were made for each other, but  _someone_ decided to ignore it for the longest time," he summarized dramatically, then brushed a thumb gently over Sherlock's lower lip. "Glad you came around to it," he whispered, "Otherwise I might've waited forever."

"I didn't  _ignore_ it," Sherlock corrected playfully. "I just wasn't sure what to do with the information. Made for each other sounded more to me like extreme coincidence. But...I was less of a romantic. No one had quite...phrased it as you did, or offered me anywhere near as much." He kissed him again, barely noting the cab stopping in front of Jim's apartment complex.

Jim was going to say he hardly needed the clarification, but it ended on such a true and touching note that he decided not to bother. Besides, home sweet home. Jim unwound himself from Sherlock, tugging a money clip from his pocket, handing a few bills up with the usual pleasantries. After Sherlock got out Jim followed, feeling again that odd giddiness that they were here rather than 221B. They breezed through the lobby, and once in the elevator he looped his arms around Sherlock's waist again. "Finally. Thought we'd never make it off the museum lawn still dressed, for a second there..."

Sherlock gave a very sly grin. "Well..." He folded his arms around Jim. "We've still yet to make it to the flat..." His hands wandered some, hooking just under Jim's arse, pressing their bodies together.

Oh, that smile...That spelled very good things, indeed. Sherlock had the world tricked with his oblivious act. The sudden press put a devious grin on Jim's face, too, and he stood taller for a kiss. "Mm, inadvisable, pretty sure there're cameras in here..." It shouldn't have been an enticing thought, just like the museum lawn shouldn't have. But it wasn't the location at all, it was just /Sherlock/, looking that way and initiating misbehavior. Inexpressibly beautiful to Jim, a connoisseur of misbehavior.

Sighing, Sherlock released him, leaning agaisnt the wall of the elevator, which had been going criminally slow. "It's your birthday, live a little." Of course he still knew that getting caught meant certain doom, especially with his omniscient brother. But something about  _danger_ had always captured his attention. More than that, he wasn't quite the angel everyone always wanted...under it all, there was a distinct /thrill/ in indulging the forbidden.

"Oho," Jim chuckled low, highly amused at Sherlock's reaction to Jim playing - well, Angel's advocate, rather than Devil's. He leaned close enough again to murmur sultrily against Sherlock's lips, "I intend to." He licked his own and winked as the elevator doors chimed and opened, leading the way to the penthouse door, pulling out his keys. Didn't even bother to shield the digital lock purposely when entering the code, either - if Sherlock was nosy, so be it. Had its potential benefits, or he mightn't be nosy at all. And at least it wasn't S H E R. Jim set at unlocking physical and digital but took his sweet time with the wrong key, having fun testing Sherlock's patience. 

Sherlock scoffed. "If you're going to waste my time, well, our time-" He smirked. "I'm not looking, but I  _will_ get fed up eventually and try to crack it. Then who knows how long it'll take me to get out of 'detective' mode, hm?" Famously asexual, puzzle-solving mode, more like.

Jim rolled his eyes, smiling as he punched in the right code. Here he'd been hoping for more groping, and Sherlock was making subtle threats that held little weight. Ever adorable. "About as long as it took me to properly distract you, I imagine," he answered airily, opening the door to the flat, just as eager to be ensconced in privacy once more.

Sherlock followed. "Don't underestimate my focus," he warned, but as he shut the door behind them, knew it was an empty threat. Alone again, but without the pesky hindrance of possibly getting caught. He leaned against the door, playing coy. "So...what now?"

Jim immediately tugged off his jacket, tossing it in the general direction of the coat rack and lucking out when one of its wooden arms happened to lopsidedly catch it. And then he spotted the box on the table, wrapped in plain blue paper, and just stared. Sebastian had been here...and even left him a present. After today's bitterness, and all. Jim blinked slowly. Well, that was...nice. Something a friend would do...but god, did it ruin the momentum for a second, and Jim knew he couldn't open it now. If he did it would take more time away from Sherlock, and Jim didn't want his soulmate feeling residual guilt over not having even  _know_ about the birthday and suddenly up against a lack. Jim swallowed. The unknown would have to wait, when Jim had time alone, and could text Seb either thanks or questions, or telling him not to come back without asking. But he'd probably gotten his guns, too. Well, good. Sort of. Sherlock's question startled him back from the present to The Present: he turned back to the other. Gorgeous. Pretending. As if they didn't know what they both wanted. "There're no cameras here," Jim assured him, stalking the few paces to his lover. "Could do anything we please..."

Sherlock got to his feet properly. "I suppose that's true." He stepped towards Jim slowly, closing the distance, tension in the air thickening with each forward pace. Once they were within inches of each other, it seemed to still. Dead silence, except for the throttling of his heart. "But as I've pointed out, it's your party. You name the game we play."

It wasn't that difficult to refocus on Sherlock, when the approach reminded Jim of a viper finding prey: one step over a primal line and they'd be circling each other like animals. Would've been hard to notice the widening of Jim's pupils, but if anyone could it would be Sherlock; hell, Jim could almost /feel/ it happen, and that was that.  Back in the moment. Could've said he didn't want games (not that that was really what Sherlock had meant), or they could share a drink or a candlelit bath, or that any time together was lovely, but it wasn't enough just now, ideas too quiet to be heard over the electricity humming between them. And then Jim was simply  _there_ in Sherlock's space, initiating a kiss that he fast deepened, needy, silencing everything outside of it. 

Sherlock didn't get much time to react to the kiss, but somehow found himself thrown into it eagerly. Muscle memory, arms automatically pulling Jim flush against him. The kiss was nearly savage. It wasn't often they kissed so roughly, but Christ, did it completely re-wire his brain. Chemical and electrical impulse turned him from whatever fragile idea of a logical being, into Mr. Hyde. Somewhere in his analysis, his body had seen fit to throw Jim against the wall, holding him an inch or so off the ground, lips moving to attack and further bruise his neck.

All the night's little teases, the stop-and-start-of-contact, had led to a dizzying breaking point. Declarations of love making the freneticism more acceptable than in other cases, though Jim acting, too, on eagerness to forget. For all other thoughts, concerns, to be swept away. And swept he was, literally, legs curling around the backs of Sherlock's to hold what weight the wall didn't support, a whine sounding in his throat at the sudden tug of teeth at his skin. Hot shivers wracked him, one hand gripping Sherlock's hip, the other sliding into his curls. When the lovely brutality to his neck got to be too much, making him cry out in more pain than pleasure (though the two mixed marvelously), he pulled Sherlock's hair back just hard enough to make it stop. He immediately took advance of exposed neck to latch onto the mark from earlier, tonguing at it with focus, knowing the skin would be sensitive. Already hard, he ground against Sherlock, legs tightening around him. "Bedroom...a good start..."

Sherlock yelped as Jim's teeth began worrying the spot from earlier. His words barely registered, but a stab of sadism seemed to be on the menu tonight. "Not yet," Sherlock gasped, pushing Jim backward, fingers sliding over the smaller man's shirt buttons. "There's still quite a bit to do before that..." Whatever Endgame was. Whoever the winner was. Mr. Hyde fancied dragging it out as he began working the buttons as slow as humanly possible, fingers trembling, touching at each newly exposed trace of creamy flesh.

Jim groaned, knowing it would only be  _more_ difficult to get there later, but this was perhaps the most fascinating thing that had ever occurred in the history of the world. Sherlock's inner devil come out to play, and with Jim. It would have been terrifying, if he hadn't been hoping to coax it out all the while. Jim was enraptured, chest rising and falling rapidly, and even as his lashes fluttered and what blood his anatomy could spare rushed to the surface of his cheeks, he couldn't help pretending to fight it. It had always been the way, and he was madly intrigued to see what the result would be. "Since when're you in charge?" he taunted breathlessly, watching Sherlock's every move intently. 

A knee-jerk bark of a laugh answered. "Since never." Never in charge. Of Jim, of his work, of his own life since Lestrade first had him arrested and his brother forced him to clean up his act. Really, the most "in charge" he'd ever felt was on cases, or high in the gutter, away from his trust fund and rules. Now, he could have the smallest bit of control over Jim, and the idea was...maddening, to say the least. He let Jim's shirt fall to the ground, arms wrapping around his waist to support his weight as he pulled Jim off the wall, walking a few paces, kissing him furiously as he fell over him onto the sofa.

Whatever he'd woke in Sherlock, Jim decided he liked it very much. There was power of its own kind in submission, Jim knew, and he wasn't about to put a stop to this. Didn't even miss the shirt, plenty warm from the contact, though Sherlock being dressed was a goddamned pity, Jim's fingers scrabbling to pull his shirt up from his waist as he was carried over, moaning with abandon into the kiss without realizing it. He definitely wanted this bold, demanding side of Sherlock to stay awhile. Jim half-worried about breaking the zip on his trousers, they were so strained at this point, almost painful. Having the sofa cushions at his back made it all the easier to try and push up, find friction, nails raking up Sherlock's back.

Pain shouldn't have been this sexy. Confusion of the signals? Perhaps. Nerve endings were as easily fooled once overloaded as anything else. No matter. It warranted further study, which was all that kept Sherlock from restraining Jim's pesky hands. He practically smothered his mouth with his own, rolling his hips against Jim's, not quite ready to free him of his trousers. Eespecially when he could feel his desperation cutting alluringly into the fabric. 

Jim could no longer think, breathe, reason. And they'd have to at some point, god, but he was almost frantic in his nails raking back down over the fabric, hands gripping Sherlock's backside finally to keep him close as he rocked upwards. Oh, fuck, but the rush of heat was too good, imminent chafing be damned. His tongue lashed against Sherlock's before he sucked at it, a /loud/ and sudden moan at the next thrust of hips. Jim needed more or he might die, it all felt that urgent suddenly, the kiss finally breaking with a heaving gasp for air. "Fuck, are you sexy..." He kissed Sherlock's pretty neck again, teeth dragging down it. "Love you..." It had as much reverence as it had before, just in a different tone. "Want to ride you..."

Sherlock froze. Had he not been the slightest bit more  _educated_ on these matters, the strange use of the verb might've escaped him altogether. But his comprehension sent his brain grinding to a halt. Sex. Right. Expectations to uphold. Still more comfortable with theory than practice, but... "In good time," he said softly, pulling up for a moment, movements becoming more controlled as he began undoing Jim's belt. 

Jim veritably whimpered in reply, though he'd known some version of it was coming the moment Sherlock had stilled. He would have regretted saying it had it not been a combination of a reeling, filterless mind and knowing Sherlock was enjoying his desperate state. Knew well they weren't quite there yet, but a man could dream. He watched Sherlock through half-lidded eyes, leg shifting so as to re-settle between Sherlock's legs and press up, thinking keeping him distracted and pleasantly tense was only fair, wanting to see the conflict between higher thinking and base thoughtlessness play out on his lover's face. Every bit of tease and anticipation was rich, inebriation of the senses. "Mm, still love you," Jim purred, as much to relish saying it again as to assure Sherlock the wait was alright. Even if it drove Jim mad.

There was a word for this, swimming somewhere in his pre-conscious. Cognitive dissonance? Seemed like a good candidate. He let Mr. Hyde throw Jim's belt to the ground, working at his trousers but only teasing. Fingers skirted his waistband. But...Dr. Jekyll, if that's really who he was, began pacing. Mind running about, trying to think of an excuse. But at the same time...Christ. He didn't want to /disappoint/ Jim. Especially today, and after being trusted with so much... Distantly, his mind picked up on it. "Hmm," he mused, looking at the coffee table beside them as Jim's trouser button was popped open. "Seems someone has gotten you a gift."

Jim's abdomen tensed beneath Sherlock's dancing fingertips, his breaths shallow. Tease, tease, tease!  _God!_ It was still beautiful, but agonizing, knee shifting up higher carefully, trying still to frustrate Sherlock enough to rut against it. "That's...worry about it later," Jim murmured, slurring, entire body on fire and Sherlock was still _dressed_ , still in complete control, no, it was cruel that Jim couldn't have all that lovely pale skin to look at, and now Sherlock was trying to derail his brain to things he didn't want to consider yet, why, why?

Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock's mind had seemed to clear up. Body was still working of its own accord, taking the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, but not pulling. "Why? Is it a bomb?" Knowing Jim, it very well could be. Either from a friend or an enemy. But Jim didn't really have- "Oh,"  Sherlock said, hands becoming still as stone. "I see."

"No..." Jim muttered, though it could well have been. _Happy Birthday, Boss, have a kaboom..._ He didn't want it on his mind! At all! And when Sherlock paused because of it, Jim wanted dimly in the still-awake part of his functional murder-brain that Sebastian would have hell to pay for leaving it, whatever it was. "Sherlock..." Jim sighed, trying to rush to clear his mind, not an easy task. "What's the problem?" Jim hadn't bothered to check the rooms to see if Seb was still _here_ , and that was an awful realization, stopping his hips in their squirming as he just looked up at the other, waiting.

"Nothing. I suppose." And it was true. Empirically, there was nothing wrong. In fact he'd be hard-pressed to pinpoint anything that had to do with the gift. But...he didn't know. Unsure mind, latching on to something. "Sorry. I got distracted." Oh, and never a truer statement had been uttered. It seemed his body was finally on board with his mind, as when he leaned over to kiss Jim, he didn't feel the overthrow of hormones from a moment ago.

**[remainder of scene lost, but as best as can remember:**

**Sherlock couldn't quite muster the enthusiasm anymore, shagged Jim almost perfunctorily, and was vaguely bored/disappointed with Jim being so malleable, and in that headspace finding sex too easy and banal to be truly interesting, though even in the afterglow tried not to let on to Jim he felt this way]**


	9. MorMor - friendship, angst, re-connection, kinky shiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: MorMor
> 
> contents: birthday drinks, banter, angst, goodbyes?, smoking pot, Jim's a slut, see warning below
> 
> WARNING: KNIFE THINGS HAPPEN. BLOOD. SEXY VAMPIRISM.  
> Smutty but again ends abruptly, sorry for the unsatisfactory nature of that but writing smut can get repetitive so sometimes we just didn't
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> same day as previous chapter]

**[late afternoon, once Sherlock had slept over and left, after Jim opened the present to discover**

**Sebastian's old army jacket]**

  
[I can't keep this. DELETED] [Keep who you were before me. DELETED] [Sweet of you. DELETED] [Guess that's it, then. DELETED]  Thanks, Basher. -JM

Happy birthday, boss. -SM

Just a date on a calendar but appreciated, nonetheless. Feeling better today? -JM

Much better. I wanted you to have it. -SM

Obviously. -JM

Good day so far? -SM

Just fine. -JM

Just fine? -SM

It's been good. I thank you for the gift. Warning would've spoilt the surprise, but is expected next time you want to drop by. -JM

Next time. But as of right now, we're even. -SM

I suppose that's so. -JM

Hmm. You're rarely this malleable. -SM

Maybe I'm wanting this to be a short conversation. -JM

[no reply]

[9:57pm] I do actually like the present. Sweet of you. -JM

You're welcome. -SM

I approve of the Paris trip, too. You could use some fun. -JM

Thanks. Irene's always fun. I hope you had a fun birthday. We used to. -SM

Went to a museum. -JM

Broke in? -SM

Naturally. -JM

Well. There's still a couple hours left in the day. -SM

If one says something and doesn't remember it, does that mean it was never said? Even if someone else heard it? -JM

[delay] Why don't you ask me over a drink? -SM

Because last time after a drink or seven you said we'll never be friends. Trying to take you at your word. -JM

We both know I'm an idiot. Come on. It'll be fun. -SM

You'd have to be nice to me. Birthday rule. -JM

Of course. Standard. -SM

[I don't know. DELETED] [I want to trust you. DELETED] [No hurting each other for a while? DELETED] That cocktail bar down the street isn't terrible. -JM

In an hour? -SM

See you then. -JM

Sebastian arrived first. Cute little joint, much less like the bars he was used to, tables, booths, paint-job that was just a hair too bright. Also, everyone seemed to be in their late twenties. Hm. Unusual for Jim to slum it with the younger people, but alright. He got a booth, ordering a beer in contrast with the more whimsical feel of the place, sipping it as he waited.

The logic was to see Sebastian outside of the flat, though Jim couldn't pinpoint a reason why, other than Playing Nice. The sniper did seem to want to follow the birthday rule, which was a relief. If last time had been a nightmare, and Seb was no longer chasing dreams, what remained was their reality as it stood now. Peeking in on it to see what shape it was in, didn't mean having to overhaul or reform it in one evening; Jim reminded himself of this upon reaching the bar. But also that he couldn't assume friendship. Tonight was to be...a test run; being on more certain ground with Sherlock did make Jim stronger should offense or defense be required. But he hoped not. Jim saw the sniper's back first, unsure almost what to say while approaching, then noticed the beer. Rapping lightly on the table in greeting, he drawled, "Always so classy, Sebastian."

Seb smirked. He still wasn't sure what he was expecting from tonight, but this was a good enough start. "I know it'd be amply entertaining for you to watch me try to stomach a Cosmo, even I'm not  _that_ nice."

"Nor I quite  _that_ sadistic," Jim added, reaching out and giving Sebastian's shoulder a small squeeze for no real reason before moving to sit across from him. Jim was a little nervous yet about all this, but seemed determined to mask it. Not with the All Business tone of voice, but with some amount of reserve until it was proven unnecessary. "For my part, a blueberry margarita sounds divine," Jim said as he slipped off his jacket, folding it halfway and placing it on the seat beside him.

Seb let out a surprised chuckle. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a stereotype?" Of course, coming from _him_ , the hard-nosed army man who was rarely out of camo, the words didn't hold much bite.

Jim's eyebrows raised as if this were new, fascinating, legitimate information. "Oh?  What sort, exactly?" He blinked, patiently waiting for Sebastian to explain, giving him a little hell for the comment. "Of course, if you'd rather go get me my birthday drink than elaborate, I'd accept that too," he said with a wave. If fruity drinks and hidden staircases were wrong, he didn't care to be right. Jim barely concealed a smirk. Good to be toying with each other without emotional aspects.

Seb dropped his jaw the slightest bit. Out of indignation, of course, but out of surprise. Jim was acting...Well, Jim, again. In response, unable to bring himself to retort, he got up to go place his order.

 _Won that round_ , Jim thought as he watched Sebastian get up, and let the smirk have its moment as he leaned his head back, and people-watched. Everyone playing at elegance, some remixed brand of jazz barely audible over the chatter. Not really their scene but oddly relaxing, and better than the atmosphere that would have arisen between them at what once was home to both. Comforting that some things never did change.

A few minutes later, Seb returned, daintily placing Jim's drink on the table. "God, it even comes with an umbrella," he muttered, sitting back down. He took another swig, as if trying to re-anoint himself with masculinity, tainted just by touching that frilly monstrosity.

Jim rolled his eyes, gingerly taking the little umbrella out and setting it on the table. The drink was a pretty shade of blue, and he wrapped a hand around it but didn't yet take a sip, looking Sebastian over. Seemed to be carrying himself with a little tension but nothing remarkably worthy of alarm bells. Meanwhile Jim exuded relaxation he didn't quite feel but wanted to, his own distancing method. He considered joking that it was a good thing Seb's girlfriend hadn't seen hims carrying it, but such jokes were just stupid, and he laid off it. Talking of their respective lovers was not a road to traverse tonight, if they wanted to keep the peace. "Cheers," he said simply, raising the glass to clink against the beer.

Seb nodded the same before taking a sip, observing Jim's body language. It was forced. His own was probably easy to read through, nerves, uncertainty. But what Jim was hiding despite one arm thrown over the back of the seat was a touch more convoluted, just a sense. Why did Sebastian _care_? Couldn't not, but all he really knew of it was that Jim was hiding at all. "So. Older. Any wiser?"

For two so familiar to be engaging in small talk seemed ridiculous, and yet it was safe. Jim sipped, licking his lips after, and considered the question. Thought Seb and he could stay friends, taken words of love from Sherlock Holmes at face value, and risked a whole lot in every direction to maintain knowing both of them, because he couldn't live without either - wiser? "Doubtful," Jim admitted, smiling halfheartedly as he took another sip. "But wisdom's one of those  _things_ that you want others to find, but don't dally with yourself." Jim playing philosopher now, was plenty wise enough; it merely tended to slip away when anything else got under his skin.

Seb scoffed, disheartened. "Really, Jim? Nice to see you're still keeping me at arm's length." But he had to shrug it off. Perhaps he'd earned it. "Whatever, I'm still glad you came out with me tonight. Even if you're not." Oh, yes, he was a fool. Older than Jim, yet still unable to accept that the wisest move would be to get as  _far_ from the situation as possible. He was only going to get hurt. But life without Jim sounded...dull at best, unbearable at worst. However, the latter was  _also_ a possibility as long as Jim  _was_ still around.

"Not that I'm not glad," Jim muttered, frowning a little as he looked down at the drink. "But maybe arms' length did seem wiser." He glanced up at Sebastian once more, expression unreadable. Because maybe this way they wouldn't punch or kiss or threaten each other, didn't that make sense? But Sebastian was a fighter, always had been. Felt most alive when he had something to go up against. It used to end well, that sort of thing, but no longer.

"I'm done attacking you, you know." He cocked his head to the side, eyes half-lidded, almost sleepy. "A good soldier...knows when he's lost. Besides. I promised to behave myself _tonight_ , if nothing else."

It was sweet of Sebastian to remind Jim of this, in an effort to dispel the need for whatever facade felt best. Seb looked tired of the fighting too, in that moment. And tigers, despite best intentions, were often unpredictable. It was a social quagmire of sorts. "Well, I don't know what you want to hear, as I'm sure there are things you _don't_ ," Jim stated, a little curt, frustrated with that fact. If he couldn't talk to Seb, then who? "So, how're you."

"It doesn't matter if I don't wanna hear it," he said carefully, eyes briefly flickering to Jim's neck, the stain of blood pulled to the surface stabbing his gut. "I don't want there to be  _bullshit_ between us. At least before you would be honest with me. I'm an adult, not some fragile...Look. Do us both a favor," Seb sighed, eyes piercing, serious. "Don't try to protect me. Be you. That's all I've ever wanted."

Jim very nearly stopped him after 'fragile' because it wasn't entirely about that. As much about protecting himself, too. He stared as Sebastian finished speaking, the final sentence a heavy one, and slowly nodded. If Seb said he was done attacking, Jim would have to trust as much. Even if just being himself would inevitably lead to exploitable things, moods, revelations... "Fine," Jim relented, "But you still didn't answer how you're doing." And Jim did want to know. He raised the glass and drank, knee brushing Seb's under the table when he shifted, quickly remedied.

"Excellent, actually," Seb replied, finally allowing a real smile. It was funny. Things were actually pretty good, ignoring the slight burn of jealousy. Girlfriend wasn't as annoying as he'd initially assessed. Going wtih Irene in a week. Working with Jim seemed less daunting a prospect. "Yourself?"

Damn that contagious smile. Of course, Jim wondered if excellence equalled exodus, thinking Seb still might just Leave and save himself the trouble, but at the positive answer Jim smiled too in relief. He'd far rather Seb be this way than miserable. It meant he could move on maybe, and that Jim wasn't as awful as Sebastian had made him feel. "Glad to hear that," he decided, and bit his lip as he folded his arms over his chest, leaning back once more. "As birthdays go...very well, actually. I mean...nothing like that year in Prague, but I don't suppose anything ever will be," he snickered. That had been a preposterous affair with far too much alcohol, almost getting arrested, a hasty escape and many laughs. Today had been quieter, but Sherlock had made it magical. Seb dragging him out wasn't hurting any, either.

"That was...special, yeah," Seb mused. He barely remembered that night. Or the entire weekend. "That was also the day I learned that 'flammable' and 'inflammable' meant the same thing..."

It  _had_ been special, for its wild abandon. And the sex in the alley hadn't been bad, either. Not that reminiscing was really the best tactic to take, but also, why not? Forgetting the good times would be impossible. It was why they were sitting here even now. Jim had just taken a sip when Sebastian reminded him of The Incident, and he sputtered a laugh around the margarita, swallowing very carefully as he shrugged. "Can't say i didn't  _warn_ you. Not my fault someone thought shouting, "Fuck off, Merriam Webster!", was a more useful way to spend the time than listening." Jim's eyes twinkled merrily over the glass as he sipped again.

"Well, what  _else_ was I supposed to do? I don't believe your guy when he said he didn't lace any of that..." He shook his head. Hadn't smoked /that/ much since uni. Maybe not even then. "And whatever we were drinking, combined with you stressing needing to be _stealthy_...No one ever appreciates quiet parties, Jim."

Laughing softly, Jim nodded. It was true. "Well, I hope you'll be good for Queen Irene," he e. "She's picky about her things, a fire wouldn't go over well. I almost _would_ like to join you, but..." There he sipped, wondering if he actually regretted it. Not that Sebastian's attempt to rub it in his barely-awake face hadn't been awful. But Jim did support the finding of solace in her clever ways and regal airs. Her beauty and ice, too. That the three of them had decent companionship was something Sherlock might never get to share, depending how he felt or didn't feel about her. Jim didn't want that to mean missing out on what was nearly a steady friendship; he'd just miss Paris, was all.

Seb almost choked on the sip he had been taking. Be good for Irene? What about that /wasn't/ contradictory? "Ah, there's the thing," he smirked. "I told her I didn't want trouble. She encouraged me to re-think that view." Re-think a lot of things, actually. But Jim probably didn't need to hear the details.

"I  _knew_ she was there when you called me," Jim insisted with a finger pointed Seb's way, a little certainty proven right. Even when things were a little wrong, being right always felt good. They'd  _probably_ just be working...Sebastian had a girlfriend now, and wasn't the cheating /type/, not really, and Irene's preference for women would hamper any attempt even if he was. "Well, if you run into trouble that isn't fun, I'll help if I can," Jim offered businesslike, meaning to breeze over all memory of that phone call. It had been harsh. So far, this evening was much better.

"Ah, right..." Seb nodded. The phone call. She was only there for the parts that concerned her. She wasn't one to eavesdrop when she cared about the people's lives that were involved. She was only trying to /help/, after all. As was Jim, apparently. The earlier texts surfaced in his mind. Dare he bring them up? Well, that was the premise of this meeting, though flimsy an excuse just to see Jim. He let a beat pass before asking, "Wasn't there something you wanted to ask me?"

Jim set down his drink but rolled the glass between his fingers as he considered. They were managing alright, keeping things light, and establishing a rule of No Bullshit. And obviously someone who didn't want him to spend a birthday evening alone, wasn't that a good start? But Jim shouldn't get  _used_ to it - all he had for sure of Seb was a jacket, and probably his trigger finger on call. Jim stared at the table as he thought how to phrase it. "You...said something, that you likely have no recollection of saying. But drunk words speak sober thoughts, so the adage goes." He sighed. "I'd  _like_ to be friends." It was quiet, uncomfortable, unsure. Not where Jim wanted to be right now. But maybe necessary. "According to  _Drunk_ You, we can't."

For a moment, Sebastian said nothing. He vaguely remembered that. He also remembered meaning it. "I'd like to be." It was a safe answer. But as for  _not_ so safe... "But I don't know if it's possible. And that's not your fault." A flash of sadness he couldn't reign in appeared. Because it really was /his/ problem, not Jim's, that needed to be worked out. Frankly, he didn't know if he could.

How could Seb not know? Jim knew. They knew each other better than anyone. But bruised egos, broken hearts...these things needed time. If rushed and pushed, tragedy: the past month in a nutshell, as their frayed connection went. "Right." Jim didn't want to look up at Sebastian but braved doing so anyway. "Understandable." He smiled weakly. Wisdom. Time. Noticing how sad Sebastian looked. If all Jim kept doing was making it worse, best to stop trying...

Stupid Jim. Always trying to throw some shroud in front of himself, master of disguise. Seb let his leg fly forward, kicking him softly under the table. "Lighten up, boss. It's your birthday, not your funeral. And for now, we're okay. Quit trying so hard to make things right. They'll get there. We're even, remember?"

Jim rolled his eyes, glancing back down. "So if there are things I want to say, I should save them for when we're  _not_ even?" he asked, not sure how that worked. How anything about friendship worked, truly. Sebastian was trying to perk them back up, but he'd started this. But if Seb thought Right would happen eventually, that was good. "Scratch that," he amended immediately. "You're right. We're good at grabbing a drink together, at least." This wasn't the right time or place. In truth, neither might ever exist.

"Well...What aren't you saying, exactly?" He quirked a brow. "I'm not forbidding a discussion here, boss. In fact, we should probably air it out, whatever it is, if we have a chance of moving past it."

Discussion. Of course. Words, none of which came easy, and the truth of which would only be doubted. And fine, let doubt push them back into the simple Boss/Sniper relationship it had once been, but it was too late for that. Seb had been too much over the years to trust his own doubts. "Mostly that...m'sorry," Jim admitted softly, not able to meet Seb's eyes. "I treated you...not how I should've, more often than not, and oh, you've gotten me back here and there but..." He shook his head, unused to all this. "Believe me if I said I miss you?" He looked back up again. "I don't just mean... _that_. I mean, you. Being around. The flat gets quiet, and I...I don't know. Sometimes I ignored /you/. And I regret that." It wasn't beckoning nor guilting, but an unprecedented, actual apology.

"Jim..." It was an involuntary whisper. Almost warning, but...also pleading. It hurt. More than anything. These were things he knew, of course, but Jim apologizing? Since when was he that introspective? "I...Thank you," he clammed up thereafter, too deeply touched to know what else to say.

"Can't be that surprising, wouldn't have given me the jacket if you thought I'd just throw it out, right? Even or not, it needed saying." Jim was covering it all with a rapid stream of points that all connected, and clearing his throat, stood from the table. "Back in a mo." Escaped, winding through people to the bar, to get Seb a second beer.  _One_ drink had been the plan, but...this could all only go so bad in public, ergo felt safer to talk.

Seb watched him get up with some scrutiny. Staying here a bit longer, then. Hadn't exactly expected that, but he wouldn't complain. He did miss Jim. His companionship. But he knew that. There was never a question if  _Seb_ missed or cared. "Another rule," he said gruffly as Jim sat back down. "Don't apologize." Didn't sound like Jim at all. Just... _wrong_.

Setting the beer down before Sebastian, Jim reclaimed his seat, rolling his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. "Okay,  _why_ is that the second time I'm hearing that this week. First him, now you." The old means of apology weren't doable anymore, what choice did Jim have?

Seb wrinkled his nose at the mention, but not as prolonged as he felt he'd have to get used to the idea of Holmes sooner or later, if this was going to work out. "Maybe we both understand how  _stupid_ it sounds coming from you." He took the second beer, turning it in his hands a moment before continuing. "I mean. You can, if it makes you feel better. But you don't apologize for being you, ever - I knew what I was signing up for."

"Can handle me when I'm losing my shit, but not when I'm being nice. Fine, Bastian. Have it your way," Jim replied with a small, bitter laugh before he took a sip of his nearly-done drink. It made little sense to him.

Seb shrugged. "'Nice' is a shit concept, anyway. Same with tact. I much prefer you as you are. Even at your most tender, you've still got a sharp edge." He let his eyes fall to Jim's drink. "More fairy dust for you, boss?"

Jim made a face, though a subtle one. It was like Seb wanted reasons to hate him. Probably made it easier, but still. He'd tried. If Seb didn't want the apology, fine. "Yeah, why not," he muttered, polishing off the last of the glass. Already felt the pleasantness of the drink; not a proper buzz, but nice.

Well, it could be going worse. Seb got up to get Jim another drink, wondering why he hadn't just gotten another for himself when he was up. Seemed uncanny he wouldn't think that far ahead. But he got the impression he shouldn't read too far into it.

Sometimes drinking didn't mesh well with the meds. Once after a whiskey night, Jim had been inexplicably unable to feel the back half of his head the whole next day, even in the shower. Weird shit. But the pills had been hours ago, so what harm could one more do? Jim found himself watching what he could see of Seb at the bar, and thinking nothing and everything at once. After this drink, they'd part ways for the night. And that was fine. Still, took some getting used to...ah, well. He turned his attention idly back to other tables as his former lover returned, and smiled thinly. "Thank you, daaaahling," he drawled most pretentiously, picking the second umbrella out.

Stupid, sexy lilt. He grunted a, "You're welcome," sitting across from Jim once more. He took a very long drink before an evil grin emerged. "So. Birthday Boy. Just how bad  _was_ the sex?"

It was a good thing Jim had already swallowed the first sip when that question came up. How in the _hell_? Oh. Hickeys. Right. He side-eyed Sebastian with malice as he set the glass down, but it was more pretense - damn that grin. "I'm fairly sure I've impressed upon you, several times now, that that's none of your business," Jim reminded him, the last four words sing-song.

Seb snickered. "That bad, huh? I'm terribly sorry..." It almost sounded sincere. And in a way, it was. He was sorry Jim was disappointed. And that for all his anticipation, and building it up in his head...Inexperience was still inexperience. He took another swig, trying poorly to hide his smug grin.

Now it was Jim's turn to kick Sebastian under the table. "Quit being a prick. I mean it, it has nothing to do with you." Jim took another sip, smirking at the memory. Alright, so he'd done most of the work and Sherlock had been a little dazed during and after, but it hadn't been _awful_. "Cut him some slack, he's new," Jim muttered finally, deciding it would be the last he and the faint blush on his face would say of the topic, still satisfactory enough to Sebastian's sense of boudoir superiority.

"Friends  _are_ allowed to take interest in these things, you know," Seb chuckled as Jim's features told him everything he needed to know. He shrugged. "Besides. That's what's new in your life. I know everything about work that I'm allowed to. Other than that...Nothing I dunno about you."

Jim was quiet a long moment, glass in both hands. He wasn't sure why the words were on the tip of his tongue as it ran across his lower lip in thought. Maybe an urge to keep Sebastian off the topic in the future...to prove past comments wrong...or to see if Seb thought it was even possible. "...Told me he loved me," Jim volunteered softly, a dreamy smile transforming his face for a moment before it faded and he glanced back to Sebastian. "I don't think he  _really_ knows what that means...either the word, or me in particular, but...that's new, too." Sherlock didn't know Jim the way Sebastian did. Loving each other was a mutual narcissism, intense, a new reason to keep breathing, but...for some reason, Jim was opening the door to Seb's thoughts on the topic.

"I envy him," Seb replied after a few seconds of consideration. The words, despite his own pain's insistent presence, were even, calm. Envy wasn't the predominant feeling, however. It was pity. To love Jim Moriarty was a curse. However. That was to love the _real_ Jim. Seb could never know what it was like to love one of his faces. And most certainly, Jim wasn't being completely genuine. And to be loved in return? That was something he didn't know. A factor he didn't know how it played in. "Unfortunately..." His voice wavered. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Jim didn't understand the envy, unless Seb's mind had immediately jumped to the sentiment being returned, as it had been. He was watching Sebastian's face closely, and nodded silently when the sniper yet again poked at his fears. But different this time - Jim had asked him to. Sensible, helping him keep a clear head, an echo of the uncertainty he'd just voiced himself. "I think you're right," Jim agreed, and shoulders twitching in a shrug, shook it off. "Good thing it's not really necessary."

"I'm sorry," Sebastian said softly, reaching across the table, touching his fingertips to Jim's wrist. "It's not necessary. But it's... _preferable_." He related all too well. To love someone for exactly who they were, wishing they'd love you back. But Jim knew who Seb was. Sherlock still had the chance to figure Jim out. One day, if the criminal ever let him get that close. But that required patience, more than he believed the detective had for such things. Jim probably knew that, too. "D'you think he ever will?"

Jim wasn't blind, or stupid. This -  Sebastian setting his own pains aside - was closer to the sentiment. So was getting a taxi at 5 AM to check up on someone. He'd do it for Sherlock in a heartbeat, but he'd done it for Seb, too. Actions spoke louder than words, and nice was a shit concept, after all. "Well, he's not _playing_ me, I do think he believes it." Jim sighed softly, grabbed his drink with the hand Seb wasn't touching. Didn't feel like moving that one yet, fingers having subconsciously curled towards the other's. "But. Only time will tell." He took a long drink.

Seb let his fingers caress Jim's, playing with them unconsciously. "I don't think it's a game, and I agree he probably means it, but...He's not working with all the information." But the last person Jim had given all the information...well. He was in a suspended state of running away.

Huffing a small laugh, Jim's eyebrows raised sardonically. "God forbid, right?" There wasn't any heart in it. Legitimate fear of the day Sherlock saw him with no masks firmly in place. He glanced around and spotted the clock on the wall, and shook his head. "Lookit that, just twenty more minutes, then you're no longer obligated to be nice to me," Jim said with one of his easygoing smiles that never really was, eyes cast down at their hands. How had that happened? Should stop it. But it was purely good. Sweet.

"Nineteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds," Seb corrected cheekily. He finished his drink, though didn't know if he wanted another. He felt the edges of a buzz creeping into his brain, from pounding them that quickly. "But for what it's worth, I don't think it /really/ counts as not-your-birthday until you wake up tomorrow." It doesn't have to end. It's a stupid excuse. Just like the first time they'd ever shared a bed. A stupid excuse for the sake of being close to Jim.

"I can't abuse such generosity," Jim chuckled, determined to savor and ignore simultaneously the shiver resulting from the brush of Sebastian's middle finger between two of his own. "However..." he started slowly, too conscious of their hands and finally pulling his own away, to curl again around his drink. "There may well be a little something from last meeting with Villagomez. If you wished to join me in partaking." That was a sensible enough solution, right? Feeling out this friendship concept, under the influence and inspiration of the happiest of plants? It wasn't a Special Occasions Only sort of thing.  And more than most, this year's 24 hours of birthday did feel like one.

Seb chuckled, pulling his hand back. "God. Just promise me this batch is actually clean, I kind of need my eyebrows." Breathing fire with Everclear had seemed like a good idea at the time of The Incident. He didn't think so anymore, he'd learned better, but if he got fucked up enough... "But sure."

Jim couldn't help but laugh at the memory of Sebastian without. He'd drawn some on with Sharpie when the sniper had slept. Of course, Seb had seen it differently upon waking... "It's clean. I mean, it's called Trainwreck, but all the same." And hopefully would live up to its name enough to keep melancholy out of the picture. Jim downed the second third of his drink, eager for it to be done despite the chill fruitiness of it. And they might change their minds, for any reason, and call it an early night. But no real information or assurance as to future conduct could be gained from /that/. A longer test of this tentative new way of being, yes.

"Mm. 'Nother drink, or...getting into a trainwreck, apparently?" Seb asked. Didn't sound bad at all. Though he specifically avoided saying something about getting high, seeing as he might accidentally use the phrase 'go back home'. As the crushing reality remained, that it wasn't his home any longer.

"Chugga chugga, chugga chugga, choo chooooo," was Jim's rather whimsical reply, perhaps more effected by the margaritas and promise of familiar company than he'd realized. He scooted his glass towards Sebastian. "Kill that for me, I've evidently had enough," he smiled.

"Ugh..." Seb eyed the last third of the drink warily, features contorted with digsust that was only half for show. "Do I  _have_ to?"

"I won't take a picture and send it to your girlfriend, on my honor," Jim said with false gravity, managing a straight face despite mentally grinning.

Seb glared a moment before pinching his nose and downing the rest of it. It dulled the sweet taste some, but the chill of the slush still made him cringe. "Blimey, it's worse than I imagined..."

"Ugh, such a macho straight man all of a sudden. Like you haven't swallowed worse," Jim deadpanned, rising and tugging his jacket back on, turning his head to hide a smirk into the collar as he settled it properly.

"No. I suppose I haven't," Seb huffed, giving Jim a playful, pointed look, eyes falling briefly. He stood up, lightly nudging Jim with his shoulder.

The smirk remained. "Speaking of straight, how's the jailbai- I mean. Girlfriend?" Fighting the urge to snicker as they worked their way towards the door, peering curiously up at Sebastian.

Seb nudged Jim a bit rougher as they exited. "She's entirely _legal_ , thank you," he grumbled, adding in almost a whisper, "Checked her ID and everything..." He coughed it away jokingly. "But no, she's great. Annoys me less than most people."

Yeah, yeah, the big oaf, always throwing his muscle around. Jim would've stumbled if he hadn't been expecting it, bracing his weight against the door as he pushed it open. His hands slid into his pockets, head held high. Seb had asked after Sherlock, in a way, and so it was only right to return the pleasantry. Plus, he was madly curious, because she'd lasted over a week now. "Ah, that's good," Jim nodded. "She smart?" He hoped so.

They walked out into the cool night air, suddenly alerting Seb to the fact he was a bit drunker than he'd initially assumed. The couple drinks he'd had  _before_ meeting Jim to calm his nerves, were likely the culprit. Skin had the nice burn as his heart slammed through thinned blood. "She's smart, yeah, but I'd say that's more to do with survival instinct." He grinned. "She's gotta be mistrusting and paranoid by profession."

A strong survival instinct would be a necessary trait with this mad bastard around, Jim mused fondly. "Which is...?" Too young for a skilled assassin...maybe a runner...

"Oh, right. Never told you how we met." Seb smacked his forehead. "Ballet. Dancer.  Err..Ballerina. Yeah." Definitely a little drunker than he'd assessed. "Never knew much about that world until recently, but apparently when you're good, you're a threat. Not too many jobs..." He knew  _way_ too much about this, listening to her rage on. "Apparently you gotta put your body through hell, so it really /is/ like survival of the fittest...Addy almost got poisoned last week."

Huh. So Seb had pulled a beauty.  Cheers to that. "Ballerina...limber..." Jim murmured as they walked on, the R a prolonged purr. He could picture the type. Came up somehow with Irene's shape in his head, and considered for all of two seconds inviting her to join them, for old times' sake, but knew he'd literally be asking for trouble. No, she and Sebastian needed their connection outside his puppetmaster influence. So be it. His attention had slipped some, lured back by mentions of hell and poison. "She'll be fiiiine. Who wouldn't be, with you looking after 'em."

"Heh. Bendiness  _is_ a requirement," Seb agreed. "Funny, that's something like what she said. 'Cept she was sloshed at a nightclub, in Manhattan."

Ah. So, New York. Sebastian had been eager for the rebound. Well, Jim couldn't be too annoyed about that. If it had been a young man, different story entirely, but some cute little ballerina? Tolerable, somehow. "M'happy for you.  She sounds fun." Jim sounded, albeit a little slurredly, as if he meant it.

"She's young, that's the point," Seb shrugged. "Think she could take you in a fight, though," he carried on teasing. "All ninety pounds of her."

Jim's brow furrowed faintly. "Rather it not come to that..." he muttered, preferring not to meet her at all if it could be helped. He had the distinct sense that, happy for Seb's general contentment or not, he wouldn't be particularly inclined to be nice. The chatter had distracted but now they were coming up on their building. Jim's. Not theirs both. The elevator with Sherlock briefly flashed in his brain. It all gave him pause, and he debated stopping to ask Seb if coming up was still in the cards, but...easier just to do it, would make it all feel more normal. So he didn't slow, counting on Sebastian following without doing so, either.

"I'm sure I wouldn't, either - God forbid you not like her. Or worse." Worse, Jim liked her, and further solidify he was past all that jealousy nonsense. They'd arrive Home But Not Home. Right. They rode up the elevator silently, both probably thinking the same awkward things. How did normal couples survive such history?

Or worse? Oh. Creatively kill, or creatively charm. Yeah, Jim could see how those might be worse for Seb. Entering the elevator, again Sherlock flooded his mind. How had that only been last night? Felt like a dream, and put a pinch of warmth behind the skin of Jim's face, which was hopefully already ruddy from the booze and chill air. Ahem! Focus. They were entering extraordinarily not-neutral territory, and Jim hadn't really changed  _any_ thing about the flat, but for the sheets and bedcovers. They'd have to smoke immediately, he reasoned, and as soon as the elevator doors pinged open, he made a determined beeline to their own. His own. Jesus...

Seb followed after Jim leisurely, letting him get ahead. Didn't want to give anything away. Certainly not how he had a slight anxiety that after yesterday's unprompted visit Jjim might've changed the door code, or moved the furniture, or suddenly caught Irene's need to redecorate.

So it was a little too easy, after a couple drinks, to fall back to the old steps. Jim noted this and, while comfortable for him, it may not have been for Sebastian. Still, 'twas a test run. Jim unlocked and led the way in, keeping jacket and shoes on for now, and could feel a slight jangle in his nerves. Telling each other to fuck off time and again, only to end up back here together. The hall where Jim had once begged Sebastian to kill him. Nearly every room and surface ones they'd...christened. Oh, well. "I'll get Cobain and the smoke," Jim offered, striding towards the office. Cobain was a bowl shaped like a handgun, the only real paraphernalia Jim owned, because it amused him.  
Seb hummed, noting Jim hadn't taken steps to get comfortable.  Seemed almost presumptuous of himself, but boots were hell on the hardwood. Or so Jim had passive aggressively told him several times over the years while sighing at scuff marks. He toed out of them, flopping onto the couch, his buzz still sitting nicely behind his eyes. Old habits!

Rooting around in the office drawers yielded the bowl, small silver grinder, the bag, and a cheap Bic that  _had_ to be Sebastian's for its orange and black stripes. He clicked it to ensure it still worked, and whistled two notes to catch Seb's attention as he returned. "Found one of yours," he explained, tossing the lighter in an arc to the thankfully relaxed-looking sniper on the sofa as he went to one of the windows, turning the metal handle to wind it open. Kept the curtains mostly closed but made for some air flow, and satisfied with this, Jim made his way to the sofa, plopping down onto it in a lazy manner that suggested a mild inebriation was already at work in his veins.

"Ha, don't even remember buying this, had a Zippo for some time now..." He shrugged, sidling up to Jim as he prepared a bowl. He didn't exactly know when the Tiger nickname started, but he'd kept to it, even to point of buying trinkets in stripes as a running gag.

"Possible I got it for you," Jim thought aloud, focusing on breaking up enough green to pack the grinder full. Not on the fact of Sebastian in close proximity on a couch that had once been practically his own and that last night had Jim whining on Sherlock's lap upon it. What was up with the slew of mental images? Maybe a good reminder, as if some Sherlock lived in his head and meant to...Jim wasn't sure what, exactly, but it was definitely working to keep things in perspective. He ground the Trainwreck with a few twists of his wrist and handed the black porcelain Cobain to Seb to hold steady as he packed the little metal bowl atop. "Theeere we go," Jim smiled, patting it down with a fingertip, always finding this a pleasing process somehow. "You first."

"Alright." Seb took the gun in one hand, wrapping his lips over the barrel. How fitting for the situation. The cheap lighter was flicked almost robotically, inhaling deep as he felt his throat tickle. Must've inhaled for a full half-minute before passing it to Jim, finding the task of holding it in almost...drowning. He fought not to choke, eyes finding some solace in the smooth lines of Jim's finally relaxed face. Christ. It'd been a while.

Would have been unsettling, the sight of Seb with a gun shape between his lips, if Jim had found the other night's drunk longings to hold any enduring truth. And the longer the hit went on, the more impressed Jim became, smiling slowly. "Eeeeasy," he laughed softly as the green top charred and crackled. Didn't even have to relight it. "Heh, smoking gun..." he murmured, bringing it to his lips, pursing them tight against the wide opening, sucking smoke in three short puffs. An adolescent way to spend the time, surely, but not like either of them were getting any younger. He exhaled through his nostrils, dragon-like, and let the new slow buzz sink in with the blueberry. "Should keep Villagomez around..."

Seb felt that dopey frizz crawl through his veins, exhaling slowly. "He's not bad. Though. I've never  _really_ met the guy." About 60% of his co-workers (if you could call them that), he'd only ever texted. He took the pipe back, taking another hit, this time exhaling in rings. Just to show off, a sense of whimsy returning as the chemical suppressed a good portion of the anxiety he felt from being here.

"Keeps an eye on a few streets for me. Good man. Good pot," Jim mumbled merrily, leaning back against the sofa. "Oho, lookit Gandalf over here. Impressive." And it sort of was. Jim could tie a cherry stem with his tongue, but didn't have any cool smoke tricks in his personal repertoire. Aside from the chatting, the room was very quiet. Music would have been nice but he was a couple hits away from becoming one with the sofa. Taking Cobain back, he reached a hand out for the lighter, not about to reach over Sebastian's whole lap for it. "Fuego," he prompted.

Seb, losing his finger motor control, smacked the lighter into Jim's palm a bit more clumsily than he'd intended, fingers entwining for a moment. "Oops," he mumbled, pulling his hand away. "And it's not difficult, just good tongue placement..."

Jim eyed him over the barrel, brows raised. "Just how many did you have tonight, hm?" Not taunting or even judging, but aware it was a useful thing to know. A drunk Sebastian could be...difficult, at times. He brought flame to bowl, taking a measured, slow, deep hit, chest rising and cheeks hollowing. Occurred to him all too late, in having rushed to get nature's anxiety cure into them, that it may have been a rather suggestive bowl outside of its morbidity. Not the intent, and Jim leaned his head back against the couch again, staring up at the ceiling as his eyes struggled to remain fully open, groaning in appreciation on the exhale.

"Just what y'saw," Seb lied, not needing to admit that he'd _needed_ to pre-game before seeing Jim. "Haven't smoked in a while, though. Must be hitting me pretty hard." He blinked slowly. The combination of booze and pot seemed like a good idea when you didn't need such tight control. But it was clearly not the case here, eyes fixating on Jim's lips as he went through the motions of sucking and releasing. Terrible thoughts.

"Mm, sort of the point, isn't it?" Jim asked, setting Cobain onto the sofa cushion, tilting his head to look at Sebastian once he'd regained full use of his vision. Could almost feel the red in them, if that made any sense.

"I guess," Seb murmured, body curling unconsciously toward Jim, leaning into the sofa. Feeling every fiber as his skin sung. "Feeling okay?"

Jim hummed again in confirmation, and moved the bowl to the table lest Sebastian get careless and break it. He eyed him for a long moment. Sebastian wanted something, whether to use his leg as a pillow or to snuggle up. Contact wouldn't kill them, per se, but Jim was wary of it. False hopes, enticements...these could so easily be made in error out of creature comforts and simple camaraderie. "Just...many thoughts, when I'd prefer few." Thoughts of Ssherlock, of being glad to have Sebastian here but confused, too. Still, confusion was better than their recent conversations.

"Isn't that your usual state of being, boss?" The usual issue that drove Jim to be wary of life. And the usual issue that ended with Seb holding him at night when his fragile masks couldn't contain him anymore. The same wariness, he realized, he'd felt two nights ago, but had blacked out. Ah. Well. He didn't  _still_ feel it, that was something. His hand smoothed over the new burns on his arm.

Jim nodded and reaching out, touched the bridge of Seb's nose with a fingertip, tracing slowly down. A way of letting Sebastian know that, if he wanted or needed it, some touch would be acceptable, if only for sake of lounging more comfortably. "It is," he said softly. "Glad you're here, though."

Seb let Jim's hand slide against his face, not allowing himself to react. Any reaction would be dangerous. Potentially bad, no matter the direction. He couldn't, however, think very far ahead. He could easily get weaker, but for now maintained the slightest control. "You are?" he asked, genuinely curious.

It was like petting a big cat's nose, the gesture, and Jim's hand slipped away as it had arrived - slow and careful, moving to rest on the back of the sofa, partially covering his own face. Holding himself up some, to be truthful about it. It really was good pot. "I am." No need to elaborate on the reasons, other than that they were being good to each other. No need to mention the sense that Sebastian was where he belonged, not some other place. If friendship failed, it was a silly idea to let swim in Jim's head too long. He'd come to expect this ease and be frustrated when it didn't last. "We're not shouting. Or sad. I took my pills today, you don't have to babysit me, we're just sitting here, it's pleasant."

Seb brought his own hand up, gently combing through Jim's hair. "It is. Nice, I mean." And oh, was he ever relieved to hear _that_. "I'm glad you remembered. For, like, the first week when I was gone, I didn't disable the notification on my phone, reminding me to remind you..."  Clunky sentence at best, but Jesus, he was pretty far gone and didn't have the brain space to pick through fancy vocabulary.

At the first time Jim let his eyes close - also like a cat, in that it implied total trust - and sighed contentedly. Sebastian always managed to find his way around the hair gel, smooth strokes. It was perhaps the first time since Sebastian leaving that he felt they might be alright, after all. Perhaps not the way that fit the sniper's ideal, but maybe it could still be enough. He wasn't craving anything, this wasn't a touch he could've called Sherlock for, no. This was comfort with Sebastian, Friend Despite Himself. "Some days it just...slips. But I don't actually like worrying you," he droned, blissed out. "Especially now that..."

"Now that...?" Seb asked, urging him to continue, letting his hand caress down Jim's face, fingers skidding lightly over his neck. Skin was warm. Soft. Familiar.

A shiver, and Jim knew they were cutting it close. Without a word or warning he lifted his hand and placed it over Sebastian's, stopping it in its tracks with a light squeeze. "Now that we...just...don't know," Jim clarified softly, eyes still closed. It wasn't sad so much as resigned. Acceptance, that it was up to Sebastian more than himself.

Seb stilled his hand, but didn't pull it back. He turned it a bit, interlacing their fingers. "Yeah..." he sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck off with that." His voice was still soft, almost sleepy. "If I can't apologize, neither can you. Unless it's work-related. Then you grovel, and pray for mercy. Understood?" He cracked one pot-reddened eye to regard the other.

"There's a difference," Seb argued, letting his eyes droop shut. "I  _want_ to apologize."

"For what?" Jim asked, barely a whisper.

"For being...undecided." Steady breaths. Had to breathe, as it was essential to living. Maybe he shouldn't have been talking at all, when he was this far gone. "I want you in my life. But...dunno'f I can handle it. Every day, seeing you, without me..."

Sebastian could probably feel Jim swallow beneath their interlocked hands. "I know you mean it differently, for it to...count," Jim said, voice more even than emotional, soothing to the point almost of hypnotism. "But right now, I'm not without you right now. You're not without me." He let this fact hang in the small distance between them, fingers tightening against Sebastian's larger ones.

" _Now_ , no," Seb said, voice husky, redolent with pain. He tightened his grip as Jim did but decided it wasn't enough, tugging him close, arms encircling him lightly. Not forceful or demanding - Jim could pull away, if he chose. "But. It'll happen. I know too much. You'll pull away. So will I, when it gets to be too much. And it will," he lamented.

Even if Jim knew these things, hearing them was awful. But gave him new and secret resolve, to try harder not to let it all fall apart on a whim. To be whatever Seb needed him to, that he _could_. If he could. Looping an arm around Sebastian, Jim fought the rising emotions, sticking to emotional  _facts_ instead. "Bash...Everyone should have someone that knows them too well. There'll be others, but this...isn't going away. Much as we might wish it could, it'd be easier...It's gotten bad already, and we've both pushed, and somehow we're still sitting right here, now. We can fight that and be miserable. Fight each other and be miserable. Or just...see what we can make of it. I want you in my life, too, no matter how bastardly you get."

"Fighting  _is_ making us miserable," Seb agreed. "But...floating this way is going to make me miserable, too." He rested his forehead against Jim's, eyes closed. "I  _love_ you, you know that, what am I supposed to do?" He embrace only tightened.

Jim inhaled sharply. This was more than a buzzkill. Seb had him locked into this now, and it was overwhelming suddenly, an ache starting up in his chest. "Don't have an answer for that. Wish I did. Sebastian..." His hand rose shakily to the sniper's cheek. "I...love you, in a way that...will  _never_ be what you need it to be. And if you do have to go, and save yourself...I'll forgive you. Okay? I will. Or I'll try very hard to." Every word made his chest feel tighter, strained the dam, hurt. But needed getting out, and hearing, and cursing himself inwardly, he realized he was looking at Sebastian through tear-blurred vision.

Seb's eyes opened, taking in Jim's seriousness.  He leaned forward, kissing the hot tears from Jim's face. Jim  _didn't_ cry, and yet had twice now for Sebastian. He wanted to comfort him, but as Jim's words played over in his head, he couldnt stop droplets from forming in his own eyes. Never in the way he needs. Save himself. Forgiveness. None of it was fair. And Seb wasn't sure there was anything left to save. "It was enough..." he murmured pathetically. "And it'll be enough again, but...not while you  _actually_ love someone else..."

"Bastian, please, don't blame me for that, don't-" He started and ended with Sherlock and they were one and the same and his heart was cracking, thoughts fragmenting, words barely getting out in a rush. He was practically clinging to Sebastian and what a sorry picture it'd have made to any outside observers. But there weren't any. It was just them, which made it safe for even Seb to crumble and cling, and they'd barely had a full miute of thinking things would be alright before they were all falling apart again.

"Shh, sh," Seb hushed him, pulling Jim into his lap, holding him, pressing their chests together. "I don't blame you, I've never  _blamed_ you." It was his own stupidity. Jim had always been a puff of light. Antimatter, annihilating whatever it touched. Seb had known that. Known he should only ever _watch_ , but never feel the illusion that he might touch. But he did. Let himself fall in love with something so doomed to self-destruct, almost theoretical, on an unstoppable collision course with its opposite. Still. In this moment. Jim seemed almost real, tangible. Pressing their lips together, it wasn't fulfilling like it once was. It was desperate. Weakness. Void and emptiness that he wanted to gorge himself on in a pyrrhic attempt to satiate.

Jim took solace in the assurance and closeness, the warmth of the sniper's body and sorrow. He was out of it, and barely registered the danger of this shared, in a sense therapeutic, outburst - until it was too late, and they were kissing. His heart seemed to sink further as his hand gripped Sebastian's shoulder then hair, a high-pitched keen of alarm muffled into the kiss. Tears mingling on their skin, Jim shuddered, and it was all so good and bad at once. Jim hadn't let him on this time, or sought this. It was why he couldn't be angry, but he'd been on this exact sofa with Sherlock the night before, and this wasn't...right. With a whimper Jim pulled away, shook his head. "No more than I can blame you for this," he sighed, and pressed his forehead to Seb's neck, stroking his hair. "We're fucked up, Bastian. Y-you said...not while I..." But he couldn't slip away, or let go. "I'm not doing this to you. To all of us. Doesn't fix a damned thing..." His hand passed soothingly through short hair as he spoke. Seb was right. They couldn't be friends, if this was all that might come of it. But it had felt so necessary, so...present. Sebastian had never taken convincing for kisses. Sebastian loved him  _and_ wanted him. But Jim couldn't be an opportunist about that - anymore.

"I'm not an idiot, Jim," Seb pointed out breathlessly, still reeling from the kisses. "I'm not fucked uo enough to think this will fix anything. At all." Still, he stole another kiss, one arm wearing around Jim's waist, a hand threading through Jim's hair, neither motion a demanding presence: almost frustratingly light and gentle. "But that doesn't mean it's not right. Because...I love you." Another kiss, as it seemed each just left him with a greater craving for more, seeking feverishly for something that wasn't there. "And nothing'll come of it! Tomorrow morning you'll...go back to greater things, and I'll probably still be around. But...tell me you don't want it.  _Don't_ hide behind your principles. And I'll stop."

Jim felt smaller than the collection of his conflicts, and Sebastian kept making it worse. Control, find it and hold strong to it. Not to Seb, whose repeated declarations hurt so long as the love led to selfish actions on either of their parts. Jim sniffed, shaking his head. Fuck Sebastian acting like he was actually sorry Sherlock didn't love him, Christ! "I only  _do_ fixes, no, and this isn't one, and you'll only wait 'til the next bout of bitter and  _tell_ him about it, and...and it was so nice to sit with you and have a drink, and I shouldn't have to  _lie_ to you to make this stop! Sebastian..." Jim lifted his head to look at the other, let him see the pain written on his features. It would fix only tonight. And only happen this way...again and again. "I'm sorry."

"Then I can't stay. At all." Sebastian didn't even try to stem the tide anymore. "I won't tell him but that doesn't matter. If you still want it, then you're probably right, I'll keep trying, and I can't be around for that."

Lips pressed into a tight, quivering line, Jim could only nod. At least it was a decision. Why couldn't they have just left it at drinks? So stupid. Everything would've been find, could've told Seb to fuck off back to his girl while he himself fucked off back to work matters for the night...but no, and now this. Officially Not Any Wiser, despite the new second digit on his age. Seeing Seb cry again was high on the short list of things that were nearly incomprehensible to Jim, who started to get off his lap gently, despite remaining close touching. He kissed beneath Sebastian's right eye, then left. "You're...my humanity," he confessed in a broken murmur. Telling himself to accept that Seb had to leave; that he had just himself to lean on, and Sherlock. "And so like the sun..." Jim's forehead drooped to Sebastian's shoulder. "Have the couch tonight. Or the bed, I don't care. And tomorrow, just...get out of the black hole."

Seb shook his head, arms wrapping around Jim tightly, face burning where his lips had touched. "No, it's best if I go once I let you go..." Except he didn't want to. He wanted this, Jim, in his arms, forever.. "And...I'll stay long enough to go with Irene. Then, when we're done in Paris...I'm gonna skip off. And _please_ ," Sebastian's breath hitched, chest vibrating with the force of it. "This time...don't come poking around for me.  Let me disappear."

Jim hugged back, probably more strongly than he realized, feeling feeble. And still stoned, brain working too slowly, body wanting the warmth. Horrible combo. Barely containing what wanted to come out as sobs, as he listened to Sebastian's Plan. Well, Jim had Plans, too. And if Seb wasn't around to stop them...then that meant Jim was Free. If it came to that. The awful thought occurred that he'd still call to say goodbye, but it was too, too heavy to say as he tried to process a real absence of the one who knew him best. He had just the jacket now. That was all. "...alright." No 'if that's what you really want' taunting, because Jim knew it wasn't. But it was what he needed, and Jim - wavering voice, stuttering breaths, painfully human right now - loved him just enough to set him free.

Seb's arms hugged back, matching Jim's own force. He'd secretly been hoping Jim would stop him! Ask him not to leave. Threaten him for breaking his contract. Anything. Christ, of all the times for Jim to be selfless... _Jim_ , selfish child extraordinaire.  He wished he cared enough, needed him enough to beg him to stay. But he also knew this meant more than _care_ , to let him go. Still. Sebastian couldn't move.

There'd never been a safer place for a powerful but diminutive consulting criminal, than near his sniper. Being so close now had him one breath away from breakdown, and it was so pitiful. He should be cold, push away, tell Seb to stop drawing this out, for both their sakes. He almost felt he had no right to his own feelings, as Sebastian's pain was arguably greather, but something was wrenching his heart over and over. Be easier for him with Sherlock if Seb was gone. Sherlock, who hadn't been given the same glimpses, and deserve a chance to make his mind up about them. Sherlock who'd inevitably hurt him again unwittingly. But if nothing mattered, and what he wouldn't know could not hurt him...no. Sebastian was in the way. Sebastian had served his time and could go. One kiss might keep him here and Jim knew it. It would be so cruel. Sebastian deserved better. But. Sebastian belonged to him. Jim fought with himself in his head but it came down to what felt right; sobbing like a child in his ex's arms was just too low. Too pathetic. Couldn't have it. Instead he lifted his face and pressed the tenderest of kisses to Sebastian's lips. Seb would feel fucked-with, angry, push him away, tell him he was smarter than this, and they'd be even. Or at least he should.

Unexpected. Blindsided. Sebastian figured Jim would be the one to break away - and he still might - and recoil mentally as well as physically, so desperate to avoid more pain. What was this? But he couldn't think about it, not too much. The hand at Jim's waist came up to cup his jaw, returning the kiss for a moment before deepening it, lips moving against Jim's. Not thinking. Just feeling.

Gut clenching, Jim knew this was a risk, or several at once. Or maybe just a goodbye kiss, as the last one hadn't really been. Drinking and smoking made it all so fuzzy, and Sebastian's hand was so warm. Funny that those hands, put to so many terrible uses, should have only tenderness for Jim even at a terrible time. He was tired of the weight of the heavy sadness that had blanketed them both, and of fearing worst case scenarios. If Sebastian left him tonight, calling Sherlock up wouldn't be an option - clingy, stupid. Nothing was justifiable but it was full of too many feelings to voice. Physicality had always been the best language with Sebastian. Jim poured love into the kiss, a desperate whimper muffled into it. Desperate for distraction. To be removed from his own thoughts. How could he get up and leave  Seb here so sad? Unbearable. Can't break your toys and not fix them, and in playing be fixed in turn. Don't go. He wanted to plead.  Instead his fingers brushed over stubble and scars before moving to the back of Seb's neck, holding him close, lips parting over the other's, shaky breaths lost between them.

It was wrong. Sebastian saw it now. But, not because of Holmes.  Because of _Jim_. Because this kiss was loving, delicate, and Seb realized it was the first time he'd ever felt that  _this_ much. He knew it'd truly be the last, because if he was lucky enough to  _survive_ being this intimate with Jim, nothing would ever compare. His breaths were ragged as he felt every bit of conflict rippling through the smaller man's body, letting himself be vulnerable to it. Permeable to his thoughts. His tongue lightly traced the inside of Jim's bottom lip, silently begging. _Ask me to stay._

Jim's hand clenched into a fist at the back of Sebastian's head. Not gripping but self-contained tension, no outlet, no way to fix, no, there had to be. The brush of tongue made him shiver, try to forget himself, to feel Sebastian's intent. It felt like his skull was being squeezed, the pressure being made better and worse at once. Needed calm. Needed Seb. His teeth dragged lightly over Sebastian's tongue, anything to hold the man in place! But...but /no/, that wasn't what Sebastian needed. Jim broke off gently and just looked at him, lost. "I...don't know how to say it," he whispered.

"Then don't." Words were useless, anyway. For all they'd said in the past few months, their actions directly contracted every second statement. And even if Jim begged him to stay, and Seb agreed to, he didn't know that he _could_. "Just don't lie to me..." He connected their lips again, hands still gentle, fingers running through Jim's hair, along his body, _everywhere_ , trying as hard as Jim to be distracted.

Goodbye  _would_ be a lie. Jim was never meant to have to say it to this person in particular! Stupidly accustomed and fond, when precisely had that happened? And Seb wasn't pushing him away. Probably just didn't have it in him, right now, any more than Jim did. And Jim was sliding back over him, melting despite himself. Things had never been this gentle between them. Never had wanted them to be, and yet. It was helping some, and when Jim kissed back it had a tinge of hunger to it, meaning if nothing else to wake them both up, tilt them back to their old ways, tempt. Hunger for Seb or simply to stop feeling all of this? He didn't deserve distraction. Should be left alone with his cracked and blackened heart. Would Seb really leave him like that?

Despite the added gusto, Seb didn't relent in his slow assault. He felt the extra verve, the creeping hunger that also coursed through him, but he didn't express it. His own kisses remained tender. He didn't want to think, and it was working. Jim would stop him eventually, right? He'd always controlled it, even if he occasionally gave Seb the illusion of power. Slowly, he let his hands fall, readjusting Jim in his lap, twisting his own body until he was atop the smaller man, between his thights, weight barely on him, feather-light as the kisses.

The sweetness of it all only hurt more, even as he knew it might mean Sebastian wasn't leaving. Everything was unsure and he hated it. But, oh...familiarity, despite the tenderness making up for every violent delight, a stark contrast to what had been their normal. Jim's hands stroked up arms there were tense muscles supporting themselves, before his arms wound around Seb's shoulders, a slow but firm embrace. It couldn't, shouldn't go further than this but he couldn't stop it either. Trainwreck, indeed. "Oh, tiger..." A pained whisper. "You should go..."

"I know." And oh, he did. Sebastian was all too aware what this would bring. That leaving now would save them both worlds of pain. "I know," he repeated. But Jim didn't order him to leave. Thus...he couldn't stop. Denial was a funny thing, permitting him to forget anything else, like far-off consequences. This, right here, was good. Finally his control degraded, but did not break, allowing some of his more feverish desire to break through. The kiss became more heated, still somehow gentle as he bit lightly down on Jim's bottom lip, sucking it between his own, pressing his body into the soft curves of Jim's with a low moan.

Well, so long as Seb  _knew_ \- knew this wouldn't be happening again, knew this was the worst thing to be doing, the kind of goodbye that never got the word out so couldn't count as one. Jim thought dimly, for just a second, of Sherlock, and knew he wouldn't tell him about this. Jim would sooner off himself than hurt him again, the exact same way he'd hurt him months before. Dear, surprisingly trusting Sherlock, who'd never dreamed Jim would look outside their relationship for the things he wasn't getting within - until he found out. It had been their first real fight, months ago. And if Sebastian wouldn't tell, either...made it easier, to let himself feel. To know this was theirs alone.  
Seb let himself fade into the kiss, lips burning, face flushing. It felt real. Real enough to know it would destroy him. But that didn't matter. Hell, he was gonna die someday anyway, might as well enjoy every bit of happiness he could find. Jim was undeniable bliss, all things considered. Sebastian was love's bitch, and entirely willing to admit it. His hand crept between them, beginning to unclasp Jim's shirt.

Jim's breath hitched a the touch, one hand falling from Sebastian's neck to rest over the large on one his chest. His head tipped back, eyes opening slowly, and he just stared up at Seb, an unspoken question on his parted lips. He looked stricken, hoping Sebastian, older and wiser as it were, had the good sense to rethink the approach. But...it wasn't a No or a Stop or a Leave. It was just a silence, too full of meaning and conflict, and a long gaze Jim somehow managed to hold.

Seb dutifully paused. That look on Jim's face...hard to read anything other than conflict. There wasn't enough Yes written on his face to counterbalance No, and that was a situation he never wanted to encounter again after things had almost gone really badly that one time. "Do you want to stop?" he whispered, forehead resting against Jim's as he breathed harshly.

How sweet of Sebastian to ask, Jim thought coldly - learned his lesson, it seemed. Jim smiled sadly. "Damned if we do, damned if we don't..." His heart was thudding beneath their hands, and he was certain beyond a doubt that they'd never been quite in this territory before. Ten years, and still something new. Startling. Too late. Hell, it was  _only_ happening because it was too late. Nobody ever knew what they had until it was gone. "Just...stay close to me," Jim said, utterly torn, but that much, he knew he wanted and could live with himself after.

Seb bit his lip. Why was this happening? Why did it have to happen like this? It was the end, whatever it was. He nodded, splaying his palm over Jim's heart. He imagined his own was in a similar state. Picking Jim's hand up gingerly, he curled it above the mussed black hair for support, leaning down again, another kiss without demand. _I love you._

Excruciating. That was the only word for it. Usually it was the bruises and brutality, the pain that reminded him he was alive, but this...just made Jim ache, and sorry. Jim's lips purses and brushed over Sebastian's, then the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, light as could be. Drowning them both in the regrettable softness, down down down into the depths of a moment they'd never had before and never would again. "You're really fucking important to me," he whispered. "Don't forget that, no matter what else..."

"You don't even know," Seb whispered like they were his dying words. Maybe they would be, one day. His arms lowered, laying most of his weight on him, nearly engulfing him, wanting. "If I'm your humanity, I don't even know what you are to me..." Something much more dangerous than simple _feelings_. But he wasn't some poet or philosopher, and didn't dare hazard a guess as to what it could be.

A little flare of heat traveled from the breath on Jim's ear down to his abdomen, oh, that wasn't good and yet it was. Ignorable. He was not going to use Sebastian again and confuse things further, even if better intentions than usual were behind it. They were still reprehensible in respect to Sherlock. "Your doom, darling," Jim murmured. "What else could I be?" His fingers stroked down and up Sebastian's back over the fabric of his shirt soothingly. "I-if you're...going I...want to give you something to..." Remember me by. But he couldn't get that part out.

Well. He wasn't wrong. He was entirely doomed the moment he met Jim. The way the crows' feet appeared at his eyes whenever he smiled. Whenever a plan went perfectly. How Seb, right-handed, was often passive-aggressively reminded to keep things in the proper direction for someone left-handed for almost a full year before it became automatic. How Jim could be fussy, or have horrible mood swings. The day Seb found his oft-ignored medications was also the day he got a few scars for trying to remind him. Jim stopped fighting him as much after that. "It's okay," Seb wheezed. God, he was pathetic. "I'll never leave you, not really..."

The relief of hearing that, knowing he didn't deserve it, showed on Jim's face only as a wince, hands coming to brush fresh tears from just below Sebastian's eyes. He didn't at all like seeing them there, to say nothing of the ones that had welled in his own, and he craned his neck up just enough to give him a soft kiss. "Let me anyway?" he asked sotto voce, staring up at Sebastian through wet lashes, nudging their foreheads together again. There had been so much sadness that it was pushed down, compressed, transformed into something else. Something cooler. Calmer. And what he had for Sebastian might help him, too.

The idea of "letting" Jim do anything was laughable. Or it would be, if Seb's insides weren't so utterly wracked with pain and guilt. Or the slight feeling of...lightness, as he felt those lips again, easing away some of the dark that threatened to envelope his whole being. Whatever remained of the person he was before Jim...he couldn't remember. So, rather than give a traditionally callous answer about the criminal's proclivity for doing whatever the fuck he wanted, Seb merely said, "Alright."

"Let me up," Jim directed him in just above a whisper, already unwinding his legs from where they'd clutched Sebastian's sides, and carded a hand through his hair. "And take off your shirt, and lay down." His voice cracked less now. Oh, it wasn't a solution, this little...parting gift that mightn't be one after all. God, how uplifting was that? Why had he worried at all? No...no getting hopes up...One step at a time.

Seb quirked a brow. He didn't see where this could be going, not letting his mind fall to the obvious. Things were so rarely obvious with Jim. And if they were, you sure as hell didn't point them out. He pushed off Jim slowly, sitting back on the couch as he threw his t-shirt over his head and off, waiting for Jim to stand before laying over the cushions.

Jim got up slowly from the sofa as if waking up from a dream whose spell hadn't entirely faded. He picked up Cobain and handed it to Sebastian, eyes roaming the sniper's chest and arms for a moment. Couldn't help it. "Have another hit, too," he suggested. It would only help. He rubbed a sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the lingering liquid, and walked almost dazedly down the hall to the bedroom. Trying to feel nothing. Relieved, yes. Even if this was all...so completely fucked, in other ways. Couldn't tell Sherlock. And that would be unfair, and that was just...too bad, right now. Heaving in a deep breath, Jim opened a dresser drawer, rooting around for the proper tool. Sebastian wouldn't need to put cigarettes out on his arm for stimulation, not tonight.

Sitting up, Seb examined the bowl. Not much left in it, and the cherry had long gone out. He fished for the lighter again, and took a deep drag. There was enough left for at least one more. He set it aside on the table as he exhaled. Jim could have it, if he were so inclined. Seb waited for it to kick back in, renew his high, before laying down once more.

Jim found the item and realized he couldn't recall when it had been used last, or why. Needed a clean. Grabbing the candle firestarter from the top of the dresser, he strode to the bathroom, and smiled thoughtfully at the jackknife as he ran it under hot water, then cleansed the tip with fire, cold water again, ritualism of autopilot. What had Sebastian sad? That even Jim's tenderness had a sharp edge. A small cloud of fragrant smoke was hanging in the air when he returned, and with a hand behind his back, he knelt slowly in front of the sofa, surveying the canvas before meeting Seb's eyes, leaning in to kiss just above the hipbone. "This will hurt," he promised softly, bringing the knife up where it was visible, stroking Seb's abdomen with the blade still closed. "But less than everything else has."

Seb swallowed down a shiver. He didn't move, allowing Jim the canvas of his body, already so beaten and marked. But never so intentionally... "Nothing ever will, Jim."

Jim's head tilted, features sliding into the creepy-calm mask for a second as he took in those words - and the lack of resistance. "I know, Tiger. And I'm sorry." He flicked open the blade and again kissed the spot above Seb's hip, almost reverently, before sitting back on his heels. Needed to be comfortable, and precise. His right hand found Sebastian's left and entwined their fingers, while his left set to lining up the sharp tip to flesh. He didn't tickle or toy to make Seb nervous. This was supposed to be more practica, a release when none other could be found. "Still..." he ordered in a whisper, pressing the blade down, shallow, starting what would be an inch-and-a-half long line.

"Told y'...not to...apologize," Seb grunted, gritting his teeth against the cut. Don't move. Moving would invariably cause more pain, but he was more concerned the mark wouldn't be clean. Exactly as Jim wanted. No room for error. His body stiffened, but didn't jostle the knife at all.

A twitch of a smile curved Jim's lips up at one corner, and he only nodded in response, eyes focused on the straightness of the line, the droplets of blood that rose in the knife's wake. "Beautiful..." he murmured, doubting it was deep enough to scar but it didn't have to, exactly. Moving back up to the top of the line, he started a shorter one pointing down and away from it. Focusing on it cleared his head as surely as he hoped Sebastian's was being swept away of mental pain and locked into the physical.

Seb pursed his lips, biting them savagely. He clenched at Jim's hand, looking for something, anything, to anchor him down to Earth beside the edge of the knife. It was too thin. Not enough to perch against the pain. Still, as it came down again, drawing another steady line, he couldn't help but feel the gnawing dissatisfaction. He was drinking void. Intangible, abstract ideas of despair. He needed _more_ , breaths ragged, needy.

"Talk to me, honey," Jim urged, licking his lips as the shorter line was halfway done. He daren't look up and see Sebastian's face, as appealing as the thought was. The blood mesmerized him, looked good enough to lap up. Finishing the line carefully, he stole a glance up at Seb, hoping this was having the intended effect. The taut skin beneath the side of Jim's hand was burning hot. "Tell me what you need..." Soft, hypnotic. And eager to know this had been the right-est thing among so many possible wrongs.

Seb shuddered. Jim already knew. He always did. Bastard just wanted to hear him say it. But...he didn't find any bit of his mind that wanted to protest. No final holding out, except the unspoken real answer of You weighed heavily on his mind.  Perhaps further pain might make it less imperative. "More..." he whispered, squeezing Jim's hand, "Harder..."

Sebastian was struggling, Jim could see it in the gritted teeth and strained facial muscles. "Funny, that's usually my line..." Jim muttered, smirking a little. Well, it was definitely penetrating, in a sense. "Don't break my hand," he said distractedly, turning attention back to the apparently too-shallow cuts. Alright. Deeper. The next short line started at the base of the last, and Jim pressed the knife in with just a smidgen more pressure, taking his time in slicing the skin slowly up, pausing and lifting the knife up and off when Sebastian inevitably twitched. Jim resettled to his knees more comfortably, especially now that this had gone from Just Therapy to Also Oddly Arousing. But this wasn't about that. Just a...fun little side effect.

Seb eased up on Jim's hand, having been unaware of how hard he'd been grasping at it. But he was still searching for contact. And...he hadn't missed certain other reactions. Thankfully, Jim had let him keep his jeans, which weren't yet betraying his arousal. But that didn't mean a whole slew of other factors didn't; quickened breath, flushed skin, fighting the urge to squirm against the touches, no matter how painful. Letting out a relieved sigh as he felt the endorphin rush, was definitely fucked up. "Don't stop."

Jim felt warmth behind his cheeks at those words, betraying his train of thought. Returning the knife to flesh, he carefully finished that line, letting slip a throaty little sound of admiration as blood welled more willingly to the surface now. It was helping. He knew it, and it made him feel good for the first time since talk had turned to sad matters.  He paused, and leaning in blew cool breath through pursed lips at the cuts so far, meaning to heighten the sting.

Sharp intake of breath as the sting shot through him in, the lines the epicenter of sensation. Seb let his head fall back, closing his eyes, completely at Jim's mercy - which, let's face it, there was only so much of. His free hand threaded through Jim's hair, gripping silently.

A lazy smile came over Jim's face as he felt the hand in his hair. Ohh, yes. They both knew precisely what was happening here...all too enticing. Jim awarded him with another small noise, not as deep but in recognizance of the touch, which he knew at any moment could turn so forceful...but Jim was in charge just now. Sebastian was grasping at /straws/ in comparison, and the sheer power of it was so heady after all the emotional acrobatics. "One more line...thought I could just... _carve you up_ if you really wanted..." Running his tongue along his lower lip, Jim leaned back in once more, starting the cut where the last had ended. An M, of course, but he pressed in hard, feeling saliva gather on his tongue. So slow. Keep Sebastian lost in this as long as he possibly could.

"God," Seb hissed, grip in hair tightening, but not pressuring. "Think you might have to..." he groaned, screwing his eyes shut. An M. Anyone could mistake /that/ for his own initial. Jim could write his entire fucking name, middle and all, on him for all he cared. He didn't even care who else saw it, or what questions it'd stir.

Jim chuckled low. This was all just irresistibly wonderful, right down to the palpable tension. _Sherlock, forgive me for the things you'll never know..._ He started dragging the knife downward, one thin line, shuddering as he watched its progress.  A brush of the side of his hand caused the blood to smear, damned southpaw, but the cuts themselves were thin and precise, and Jim was breathing more heavily as he continued. It was...crude. Needed...something. He brought the knife back up to a top edge of the M, drawing in an artful outward flourish. The other side would need one, too. A practiced calligrapher had nothing on him in this moment.

Blood began to pool up over his skin. Warm, wet, sticky as Jim's hand caught the edge of it, feeling it drip over the side of his kips, beginning to soak into the cushions. Normal Jim wouldn't be very happy about that, but what more punishment could be dolled out? He shuddered at the thought,  _anything_ turning him on at this point. He wanted nothing more than to pull Jim back down, kiss him savagely, shove his head down, make him lick up the blood. But that was  _exactly_ the point here: he wanted to, sure, but he'd hold back, willingly, completely submitting to Jim.

Jim watched the slow drip down, a lustful, hungry noise sounding in his throat. "Up...holstery..." was all he said, and despite not yet being done with his 'art', he simply couldn't resist anymore. Leaning in nearer, his tongue caught the drip that threatened the sofa further, salty red hitting the devious tip of his tongue. Oh, yes. Fuck, yes. Sebastian's blood was _safe_ , he knew, and erotic vampirism was delicious. Jim was as lost then in it as the sniper was, tongue resting on his lower lip, letting Seb see it as he moved back again, setting his mind to the next little fancy curve of the letter, at the bottom of the last M. Sharp. Deep. Bleeding. Jim groaned aloud, and letting drop the hand that held the knife, craned down again, mouth opening over the lines just above Sebastian's hipbone and sucking hard.

Stupid anatomy. Stupid cluster of nerves that made it so painful when cut, yet so /thrilling/ when manipulated in such a way. And stupid Jim, for knowing all this about him. Ten years, and there were no secrets about each other's bodies. This was more like their usual brutalities, but with some more tender elements... Seb moaned deep in his throat, hand in Jim's hair gripping harder, pushing him against the skin, suction too beautiful to resist. " _Fuck_ , Jim..."

Distracted. Disastrous. Still better than tears. And when Sebastian exerted control Jim nearly relinquished his, tonguing at the cuts with no thoughts to anything other than driving Seb mad. Bad, bad, bad. Just how they liked it. His teeth dragged over the lines, again eager to increase the pain, the sounds Seb made so familiar and positively gorgeous. Illuminated under some new, more openly affectionate light - drive to keep Sebastian feeling good, Jim hard as hell as a result. Jim licked his lips, spreading blood over them, and his gaze rose to stare at Sebastian over his flank. Trying to gauge what he wanted. More pain? Or just Jim? He was past caring what happened, willing to satisfy either need or both.

Seb whined, shifting his head down to look at Jim. God, this was beyond suggestive or innuendo. It had been awhile since he'd given up control like this. Of course, as a matter of work, Seb put his life on the line, and Jim was the boss. But this was something else. He wasn't fighting back, nor was he going to _take_... He sat up - with some difficulty, jeans straining tight - curling a hand under Jim's chin, tilting his head upward. He took a moment just to  _look_ at him: blood coating his mouth, hair in disarray...quite deranged, yet somehow still vulnerable. Only Jim! He leaned forward, an animal's sort of kiss, tongue softly lapping at the red staining his lips.

Wasn't it all one big, gory, sexy metaphor for bleeding the man dry? And Sebastian let him, time and again. Love rearing its head and thick, impermeable skull. And then Seb was tasting himself on Jim's lips, licking at him like a beast, and breathing hard, Jim dropped the knife, raking his nails over the scratches he'd made. He wondered how close he could get Seb to a breaking point, just from pain alone. Whether he could make his tiger roar, just like this.

Seb purred, a low growl in his chest. He was quickly losing his control. Is that what Jim really wanted? Trying to push him past his breaking point? No, he'd done that before, and it had ended with Jim knocked the hell out on the kitchen floor. So, what /did/ he want? Control? Seb groaned again, a guttural noise, letting his hands fall, one pressing against Jim's hand, entreating him for more as the scratches burned hot. The other, skipping over his shirt this time, pinched at the button on Jim's trousers.  
Jim grunted softly at the graze of Sebastian's large hand, not pulling back but pushing into it, knees scooting himself closer. This was so far past sane, it was ridiculous. And there was no question any more of what Seb needed, or whether Jim would provide. Jim's forearm brushed over the sniper's trapped erection, a complete accident, not paying it the slightest bit of attention as his free hand felt around the floor for the knife handle. One more line. Hhe had enough focus for that. "Stay still..." he warned breathlessly, looking back at the smears and lines already there, licking his lips. Let the anticipation drive Seb mad for a few seconds, yes, that sounded fun.

Seb froze, giving the smallest whine of complaint. But freeze he did, hand clenched on Jim's waistband, still incredibly wound-up, wanting just...More. Of anything Jim was willing to give. "Hurry..." he panted, but it was a suggestion, not a command. He had no power here but to beg.

Jim tsked quietly at the...request, order? Nope. He wanted, yes, but he was still in charge. Not giving up so long as he held a sharp implement and the complete attention of every nerve in Sebastian's body. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't." Just teasing, of course, for only a second passed before he was dragging the knife across Sebastian's skin to underline the M in crimson. "Oh, baby..." Jim purred, head dipping low again to lap at the new wound, knife falling once more, hand filly coming up to curve over the ever-impressive bulge in Sebastian's jeans. He had a truly feral look when he held Seb's gaze again, watching the pain and lust play over the man's face. "Feeling better?" Jim grinned.

Seb moaned, hands fisting in Jim's hair again. "God, yes..." It was a low hiss, the 's' dragged on a prolonged exhale. "I'm yours, Jim, all yours." It was almost too tragic, how true that statement was. No matter what, he would always belong to him. Who was he kidding? Leaving was never a real option. But he couldn't think about these things. Because /fuck/, Jim was touching him. Right now, Jim was here, was...not His, but close. Close as anyone could really come.

**[this never got finished, buuuuuuut safe to assume they had handjob fun if not boned]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if enjoying these odd fragments, please leave a comment saying so, it's a bitch to type all these up from old screencaps and nice to know someone's appreciating at least some of them. Plenty more, and some are even full complete scenes wowee who'da thunk it)


	10. Sheriarty - fluff, serious conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Sheriarty
> 
> contents: fluff, serious conversations, dependency & disappointments
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> a day or two after previous chapter, some texts at beginning lost]

**[previous part of conversation lost]**

[Hate thinking of you miserable. DELETED] What happened? -JM

Ah. Long tale. It was a few months after I got clean. Had to find a way to speed up my mind without narcotics and didn't know my limits yet. -SH

Limits of...not eating? -JM

Not eating, not sleeping. -SH  
I went 58 hours once. Not pretty by the end of it. -JM

Record is about 10 days without sleep. Then death tends to happen. Similar results for eating, but can be prolonged depending on body fat. -SH

Sherlock, that's a bit mad. And that's coming from me... -JM

I've never attempted more than a week of insomnia. Well within limits. As for eating, it's usually three or four days. -SH

I'm going to end up worrying about you whether I like it or not. -JM

I assumed as much. -SH  
But I suppose that means you care. -SH

It does. -JM  
[delay] Hour ETA might've been a low estimate. -JM

Well. I probably won't sleep either, regardless. -SH

Make some music? -JM

I'd have to stop texting. -SH

Hmm. Miss you, too. x  -JM

Funny how sentiment alters your priorities. x -SH

Will you play for me later? -JM

Of course. -SH

And you're sure I can't convince you toward fish and chips if I bring them? -JM

Dear Jim, you can convince me into most things. -SH

But I will stay stubborn on this point. -SH

As you wish. -JM

[2 hours later] Be there in 10. -JM

Tea? -SH

No rush. -JM

Sherlock hummed in approval, setting his mobile down and heading to the kitchen. Cleaner than usual. Mrs. Hudson must've been up recently. He turned the kettle on, setting up the silver tea tray. After it was done, he brought it to the coffee table, then picked up his violin. "Carmen" seemed appropriate, and he began to play until Jim got there.

Somehow the thought of Sherlock miserable, even if it had been in the past, made Jim put all else out of his mind, aside from the meeting going-over. Ordered in to save time, and had a quick shower before heading out. He felt a little grungy in jeans compared to the usual finery, but it was safe to assume he didn't have to strive to impress Sherlock quite as hard these days. He didn't linger long outside the Baker Street flat, not wanting to be spotted, but once in the stairwell stilled for a full minute, just listening to Sherlock play, and trying to tell himself there was no reason to be nervous. Everything was fine, he simply...had some things to hide, was all. So long as the guilt didn't /show/, it was fine. Door locked likely from when John left, so Jim had no choice but to knock.

Through the cadences of "Habanera", Sherlock almost didn't hear the creaking on the stairs. But he didn't stop, noting that his guest didn't move from the third step, listening. So he obliged, continuing up until he heard the gentle rapping at the wood. "It's funny," Sherlock smirked, door sliding open. "But I really did assume you'd just pick the lock." He stepped back to let Jim in.

_That's for when you're **not** home, silly._ "I don't  _always_ have a pick on me," Jim defended what little goodliness of character he had. "Sometimes I'm just coming to see you." He shrugged, standing straighter to peck Sherlock on the cheek, and stepped into the flat. "He's gone a lot, lately," Jim observed conversationally, about the only reason they managed this as often as they did. "New girlfriend must be perfect for him." Strolling over to the sofa, Jim took his shoes off under the table, sitting back with hands behind his head, making himself comfortable in case Sherlock was willing to keep playing.

"Mm, not as much as he thinks," Sherlock cocked his head to the side, closing the door softly, watching Jim. Despite himself, he had to smile, just being in Jim's presence again. "And this isn't the same girl from two months ago, so...well, he can sort that out on his own. I'm just grateful for the time..." He crossed the room in a few long strides, leaning over and kissing Jim quickly. " _Not_ alone."

"He works fast..." Jim was glad he'd had gum on the way over, with Sherlock planting one on him alreayd, and he smiled faintly, returning the light kiss. "Thought you  _liked_ alone," he commented, tone faintly questioning. Aside from being busy often, it was why he didn't seek Sherlock out /too/ constantly. Didn't want to annoy him. But then, Sherlock had never really turned him down when Jim asked to see him, and never let all that much time pass between whatever passed for their dates. It was sweet.

Sherlock bit his lips, recoiling almost a bit too quickly. Then, to compensate for the sudden, jerky movement, he grabbed his bow and violin, but didn't raise them yet. "...alone protects me," he said vaguely. Because really, the statement was true, but...when had he ever claimed he /enjoyed/ it? He tucked the violin under his chin, picking up where he left off.

At those words Jim swallowed, and stared as Sherlock strove so quickly to recover from the non-answer. It wasn't the same for Jim, really, who damaged everything and wished he could do the same to himself, though he and Sherlock were working with the same principles. Lessons that must have been learned once and never attempted again. But Sherlock had accepted John, and his landlady, and various others on the outskirts who'd rush to be near him on a second's notice. Attachments. Dangerous. Potentially _painful_. Right. He closed his eyes as Sherlock began to play again, a faint frown on his lips as he pushed down whatever guilt bubbled to the surface of his mind, and merely listened. 

Three minutes and forty-five seconds later, Sherlock stopped, finishing the overture. He smirked, giving a curt bow. "To your satisfaction?"

He'd let his mind drift on the notes, breathing slow and calm, eyes opening when the last sounded. Like waking from a pell, and Jim smiled. Sherlock was so precious, and played well, too. "You always are," he murmured, expression downright dreamy and loving, wondering if the flattery would make Sherlock blush. Jim liked teasing him sometimes, but wouldn't have fallen for the detective to begin with if he weren't impressive in so many respects.

Sherlock felt flecks of red burn onto his cheeks. "Ah...thank you." He still wasn't used to compliments, especially from someone he considered exemplary. He set the instrument down by the window, sitting near Jim on the sofa. "How are you today?"

"Little tired. Nothing went  _wrong_ today, small miracle. But a little better since I ate. We can't all be anorexics in the name of science." Of course, it probably had more to do with dietary habits that solidified during Sherlock's steady drug use... Jim /could/ work out and have either that lithe frame or Sebastian's muscles, but didn't care to exert much effort for his body unless it had to do with his head, erogenous zones or sweet tooth. Hence the little bit of pudge that he didn't _hate_ , per se, but didn't love either. Realizing he may have spoken wrong, he took Sherlock's hand and pressed a kiss to it in silent apology.

"I see." Sherlock frowned. "Does that mean something went wrong _recently_?" It couldn't have to do with him, right? It'd been a few days since they last met up. But then again, last time they saw each other...well. He hadn't yet spoken to Jim about his feelings on the subject. He just hoped that wasn't the problem.

Oh, was that ever hitting the nail on the head. Nothing Jim would talk about. In fact, he'd nearly convinced himself it hadn't really happened. Okay, not really, but he wished he could. But looking at Sherlock and remembering that he'd clearly needed Thinking Time...Jim smiled faintly, and brushed a thumb over Sherlock's lower lip. "Don't make that face, buttercup," Jim said softly, knowing Sherlock would hate the term of endearment and not caring. "I mean that  _I_ take great care to make sure every step of my...cases, goes well. Always the lessers who screw it sideways. Today, nobody did.  Daddy didn't have to yell or threaten anybody, can you believe it?"

Sherlock knit his brow, thinning his lips. Almost too casual. But he'd long since promised himself to stop over-analyzing Jim. And subsequently worried if that was the only reason Jim stuck around; the perk of being Sherlock Holmes' 'dear one' was that he wouldn't pry. "Surprising, indeed," he conceded, intertwining their fingers. "Must mean I have an interesting week ahead."

Sherlock might if he would figure out what to look for, but Jim wasn't giving clues. "I know I make it sound like hell, but it can be fun," he carried on. "Making people's dreams come true...Granted, they're all awful people with awful dreams, but..." Jim shrugged. "You may or may not, we'll see what pans out. You know I can only say so much." His thumb stroked the side of Sherlock's idly. "Now, what should we do to kill all that...pesky boredom of yours, hm?" It was always a risk just sitting out in the front room, lest the good doctor come home early. Rather a big risk. Hey, nice for someone to be indulging in them and it not be Jim for once.  Still...not the most careful.

Alright. That was fair. So, circumvent the subject. Thankfully, Jim gave him a way out. "Cases usually work, but I suppose I can wait..." He squeezed Jim's hand. "Besides, I generally save them for when I'm not in good company."

Jim shifted to recline, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the opposite knee, taking up half the sofa as he laid his head on Sherlock's thigh, getting comfy. "Could watch a film...read to each other...go out somewhere." It was something of a social deterrent that they were so pleased to be near each other, that little else ever got done. His free hand rose to toy with Sherlock's curls, brushing them back only to watch them spring forth again. They still hadn't really talked about Last Time, but Jim also wasn't all over him at the moment. Would only increase the guilt after... _don't think about that._

Sherlock shifted, allowing Jim better access to the fleshier part of his leg, settling against the cushions. "All wonderful suggestions," he said, letting his hands cradle and caress Jim's face, feeling the barest traces of stubble. He never thought he'd enjoy something so mundane, but it was somehow endearing. "You could...give me your opinion on Camus." He often wondered how Jim related to Sisyphus.  
H

e'd get Sherlock out of the flat again one of these days, but apparently not this one. Jim smiled at the touches, suppressing every thought that said he didn't deserve them. Sherlock looked so happy, that it made Jim happy, too. Keep calm and carry on. He even managed a little laugh at Sherlock's suggestion. "Oh, that could take days," he drawled, soothed by the stroking fingertips, closing his eyes. Though why Camus, of all author-philosophers... Jim stuck to the bits that resonated just a little further away from what could worry Sherlock as much as Sherlock sometimes worried him. "Meaninglessness...I'm on board with that. But. Even I've been guilty of the occasional...leap of faith."

"Sentiment," Sherlock stated, almost distastefully. But, a hidden fondness lurking just beneath the surface. He was warming up to the idea on a conscious level, despite whatever Mycroft had done over the years to quash it. It wasn't abhorrent. It allowed him to  _enjoy_ Jim far more than he would've without it. Loving in him more than a narcissistic manner. "Suppose you're not the only one."

Jim licked his lips in thought, and still playing with Sherlock's curls, opened his eyes again. "Have you read Caligula?" he asked softly, still keeping off other characters that hat struck him, but this one, murderous and happy about it, fit well. "Mad, but...There's this line, when he's talking to his...servant, Helicon." Oh, Sebastian and his long-suffering having to hear about Sherlock. Jim's hand came down, the backs of his fingers brushing sharp cheekbone as he recited from memory. " _All I want, Helicon, is - the moon. For the rest, I've always known what will kill me. I haven't yet exhausted all that is to keep me living_." Jim rolled his eyes. "Of course, Helicon couldn't get him the moon, because that's impossible, but impossible isn't really a word in emperors' dictionaries."

"What about consulting criminals'?" Sherlock asked. Jim was, in a sense, also an emperor. At least, he had an empire, and that meant getting everything he wanted. Which begged the question, "What's your metaphorical moon?" Jim had money. Power. Love. And hopefully enough to keep him entertained. "His Myth of Sisyphus always struck me as more accurate to my life...then again, we're not all quite as /grand/..." Because, really, when you were a small-scale detective, you were more bothered by day-to-day drivel, looking forward to the smallest reprieves from boredom compared to something so lofty as the /moon/.

What was Jim's Moon? Really? Christ, one could name an asteroid after someone and they'd still disbelieve they lit the darkest portion of one's skies. Jim would return to Sherlock and Sisyphus, but was rather on a roll now. Storytelling. "Caligula's a tyrant. Wants to control everything, too, and he just starts...losing it, a little, and realizes his own mortality. And his attachment to the whole moon thing, even though he's been told it's ridiculous..." Jim's hand dropped, folding with the other over his abdomen. "He says: ; _'if I'd had the moon, if love were enough, all might have been different_...'"  There a change overtook Jim's expression, something dark but fleeting that smoothed back out in an instant. "/There's nothing in this world, or in any other, made to my stature.  And yet I know, and you too know that all  I need, is for the impossible to be./" He looked more pointedly up at Sherlock after the recitation. "I have the moon now. Lucky me."

Sherlock's breath hitched, and was stuck in his chest. He wanted to hide. Or cry. Run away. Jim /loved/ him. Truly. No one spoke about him this way. Looked at him like that. Felt that way. Of course there were people who  _desired_ him. Lusted after him, only appreciating his mind. But Jim did so much more than  _appreciate_ him. They were equals. "Oh," he breathed again, a bit lightheaded from deprivation. "Then...what else do you have left to conquest over?"

Sherlock understood. No matter what else Jim was keeping locked away, these words, despite not being his own, were so true as to hurt. And they had, over the years. Dreaming of Sherlock. Being told time and again how silly and perilous that was. As for the emperor's remaining _goals_...well. Jim shook his head slightly, smiling again, unclasping his hands so one could ruffle through pretty curls once more. "Giving Sisyphus enough heavy rocks with which to entertain himself, I suppose..."

There was something vaguely ominous about that statement. But he didn't want to think about the consequences of such weight. To be nearly everything to a person...Sherlock could see how he and Jim had been intertwined almost their entire lives. He gave him his first case. And most of his cases today that were worth a damn. He leaned over, pressing his lips to Jim's forehead, still not sure if he wanted to make a break for it. "I'll do my best."

Jim had tried to lighten the load of the words, bring it back round to Sherlock, but it wouldn't be dropped so easily, it seemed. Would death have been an easier topic, after all? Jim had to suppress a moment of panic. Good that Sherlock knew, but also bad...but if Jim couldn't lean on Sebastian...but what had changed _there_ , really? He blinked, the hand in Sherlock's hair moving to his neck, resting warm at his nape. Struck wordless by that promise, and how it came without the full knowledge of... _no_. Sherlock's words. Were a good thing. Not to be tainted by anything else. He let out a slow breath. Guilty, undeserving...no. It had been nothing more than an...eclipse. Sebastian was bright, golden, hot and tended to annoy him in the mornings, so why wouldn't he be the sun? So, yes, an eclipse. Astronomical anomaly. Yeah, that. Wanted to say he loved Sherlock, though to overuse the phrase would grate on them both. _You shouldn't bother; you'll fail_ ; these were as close to the truth. "I..." _Want to die sometimes. Fooled around with Basher again. Don't deserve either of you._ Fuck. "Oh, you did make tea?"

"I did," Sherlock replied automatically, mouth going dry.  He saw something in Jim's expression just there. Something dark. Endless sorrow and despair. He suddenly felt very small, staring into a black hole, the depth and gravity of which he couldn't determine. Too much for his non-astrologically oriented brain. "But..." His hands suddenly flew to Jim's wrists, gripping them and holding him down, as if letting him go would be releasing him to the darkness. "What were you really going to say?"

Jim's eyes widened. What the... His heart started almost immediately to pound. Sherlock didn't /do/ this. Well, he'd had a good time of it the other night, but so had Jim. Different context, and staring up at him, the criminal's lips parted in an indignant little 'o' of surprise, eyes narrowing a fraction as he stared up at Sherlock, something like...betrayal? written on his face. It certainly pulled him from the mental well he was falling straight down, but...that wasn't really Sherlock's _job_ , that was...oh. It was now, wasn't it. "Nothing you don't already know," he said slowly. "Just...thought you'd be tired of hearing it..." Explanation given, Jim tested the grip, expecting it to loosen and now.

"No," Sherlock said, elongating the word, eyes similarly narrowing. No. Nothing Sherlock already knew captured even a  _fraction_ of the despair he saw in the depth of those irises, pupils dilated. Fingers still tight to Jim's arms, he knew there was something more.

So this was how Sherlock looked, when he wanted to hurry things along and scare someone into spilling the truth. Most criminals would be scared for a different reason, though. It  _shocked_ Jim more than anything, and now that they were looking at each other like _this_ , it was a battle of wills. Fascinating, if it wasn't twisting his stomach anxiously. Jim licked his lips, mouth gone dry. Never pictured it coming out quite this way. Didn't have to yet. But Sherlock was something else right now, and it was all focused on Jim was precision and a hint of relentlessness. _Don't lie to it or it'll strike_. Which in itself would be interesting. Oh, bad. "Sherlock..." Light warning. Pushing a limit he'd never even known about until five seconds ago. 

Sherlock's lips pressed tight together. Is this really where they were? "I understand that we haven't been together as long as  _some_ couples," he began warily, a pang of jealousy nagging at the back of his mind, fingers clenching just a hair tighter. "But I expect honesty. And, well, we can't talk about work, and that's fine, but our relationship shouldn't be an off-limits topic. If it is, I don't accept that."

Well, that almost hurt. And so did the words: 'honesty' in particular. Jim's jaw clenched hard for a moment. Some...ridiculously hopeful part of himself dwelled on many things at once, but one that shone brightest was that he'd never pictured Sherlock playing this card. At least not in a non-sexy way. Had to work on that, the whole Actual Likely Realistic Scenario thing. Trapped. In many ways. "Well, it IS something you know! Or...should,  I mean, you pointed a gun at my face and I didn't flinch, what does  _that_ tell you," Jim spat. He hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly, but Sherlock was well on the way to freaking him out, and Jim was throwing out the one truth he thought they  _could_ survive.

"It  _did_ tell me you knew I wouldn't pull the trigger." Because he wouldn't have. He huffed, releasing Jim's arms, leaning back against the sofa, training his eyes on the ceiling. "But I suppose it was daft of me to think it something so innocent..." The words were barely a whisper.

Jim rubbed as his wrists, hands clenching as he sat up. Okay. Okay, so there was that. Sherlock had manhandled him into revealing things that meant maybe Sherlock didn't know him half as well as he maybe wanted to. Okay. He should speak. Say anything to assure them both. But he was still too surprised at how Sherlock had responded to something that  _may well_ have been simple. Jesus. Jim took a deep breath. "Look..." Though what had he to say? I want to die but I love you? I love you but I want to die? Yeah, those both sounded fucking _great_.

"Look, what?" Sherlock asked bitterly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, the things he had been willing to overlook. Suppress. But. If things were going to be like this... "Or will you just lie to me again?"

Jim wanted to reach for his hand and thought better of it. His gut churned. Sherlock felt lied to, just as he'd been hoping to avoid despite how accurate it was. "Wasn't lying when I said you make me happy," Jim began softly. "I...you'll do your best, is what you said, and it's...not on your shoulders, Sherlock, okay. It's just...me. For...years now. And. I've got meds. Actually been rather religious about them as of late, because...well...god forbid you work this one out," he sighed, and resting a knee on his elbow, held his forehead. Sherlock hadn't liked speeches before, whoops. But one of them had to talk.

Sherlock knew many things. Prided himself on that. But situations like  _these_ were so far outside his spectrum of knowledge that he didn't even know where to begin. "I try not to work you out, you know..." he said, voice taking a different, softer tone, a hand reaching to caress Jim's shoulder. "You're the only person I make an effort to give any form of privacy. I heard you taking something that morning, but I didn't dare deduce what for. Or, if I did, I deleted it." He gave a very sad, woeful smile. "And...do tell me if I'm ever not enough to live for." He nudged his fingers between Jim's. "I'll do my best...but _please_..."  _Don't die. Tell me before it happens. Give me a chance to stop it._

Jim's head dipped lower still at the touch to his shoulder - in relief. A great exhale of it. "My moon," he whispered, and clenched Sherlock's hand, lifting his head to look at him. To get the words out seemed a struggle, but Jim tried anyway. "You're right, though. We  _haven't_ been together that long. I spent...a  _lot_ longer, performing for you. The cases, the pool, all of it...I'm still getting used to thinking that I don't have to." He smiled weakly. "I don't think you're inhuman, honey. But for the longest time, I didn't figure you wanted to see me as one. So. You know. Don't poke at work, that's...something else, that'd spoil your fun. But. Deduce me all you want, because...I'm not used to...Sebastian knows. But I don't just  _talk_ about these things. My reputation'd go down the drain, for starters..."

"I imagine your reputation would also suffer if anyone found out you cuddle with your sworn enemy," Sherlock added teasingly, arms folding around Jim, leaning against him in a tender embrace. "And..." Ah, no. To say he would spend as much time with him as Moran seemed almost too presumptuous. "I love you," he murmured, tucking his face into Jim's neck.

He soaked up the affection, its source just slightly more informed than minutes ago, therefore it was slightly more true. "Love you, too," Jim replied softly. "And you were enough to stay alive for before we even met." He sat up more, curling an arm around his soulmate's back, and looked down at their hands. "Earlier, when you said about...miserable at Christmas...I couldn't bear it. Fuck the whole world, that should let that happen to you. I won't have it. And I won't let you get bored if I can help it. If I can give you  _half_ what you've..." Jim's breath caught, and he kissed Sherlock's cheek, leaning in towards his temple. "Choking up again, I hate it," he laughed brokenly.

A hand cupped Jim's jaw, Sherlock pressing their foreheads together. "It's alright. I won't tell anyone about it." He kissed his lips, the tenderest peck. "I just hope that some of my mystique hasn't faded now that you've got me..." Because, despite whatever revelations had come and gone, Jim was still as enigmatic to him as ever. "For all your watching me...I believe you owe me just as long together, don't you think?" But if anyone was indebted it was Sherlock. Sherlock who was currently blushing at Jim's outburst on his behalf. Sherlock who, without Jim, would've never had such _feelings_. Jim, who had always kept Sherlock enthralled by that beautiful mind...

"I do, don't I," Jim whispered in something near awe, with a twitchy smile. He couldn't make promises. But most days spent with Sherlock seemed to make the leap of faith worth taking. Even the bad ones, they did make him _feel_ , remind him he was alive even when everything in him felt shattered and dead. And he'd do anything to protect this, right down to the one thing Sherlock asked him not to. What Sherlock didn't know couldn't break them, even if it ate at Jim somewhat. Even if he did feel something for Sebastian, Jim had made his choice. And he was Sherlock's too, for what sounded very much like the possible rest of their lives. Jim kissed him again, slow, lingering.

Sherlock returned the kiss. Kisses were nice. Any sort of touch, really, sent him adrift in a sea of hormones and chemical reward. That is, if he were being detached. But when he took a step forward, rather than back, he could feel simply...special, about it. Not thinking about the specific neurotransmitters. He drew Jim closer, resting his chin on his shoulder, sighing in contentment. 

That was nice. Better. Breathing into each other. Over too soon, perhaps, but they were both processing. "We'd handle it, I think," Jim posited. "If the world  _did_ find out we were...cuddling." Jim smirked, and kissed the crown of Sherlock's head. "Play it up that we'd both been playing each other. Have some duke-out, very public. A winner, a loser, easy-peasy."

Sherlock hummed. "Perhaps. Though I know a couple people that wouldn't be so easily fooled..." John would immediately draw the wrong conclusions, but be closer to the truth. Seeing as he couldn't comprehend his virginal flatmate  _dating_ anyone, he'd assume Sherlock would've developed feelings while  _Jim_ was playing him. Then Mycroft...Mycroft knew how he was wired. Knew that a relationship with Danger itself was his only chance at love. He'd probably parsed it out by new, merely lacked concrete proof. "I think I'd rather you win. Would likely make continuing easier." He'd like to stop hiding someday. Even if it was necessary now, it was exhausting to sneak around John and his brother.

A faint blush showed itself on Jim's cheeks. "You'd lose to me?" Now /that/ was truly a sign of love, coming from Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "Well...yes. But not easily. Even if it was all an act." He pressed his lips against Jim's lightly. "But it'd be for the best."

"Wouldn't want you to lose easily," Jim agreed, " _Even_ for an act." A hand passed lovingly through Sherlock's curls as he sought another kiss, just as soft but with a particular focus on full lower lip, unable to resist the urge to draw it between his own.

"Mm, not at all...But the real question would be whether you were willing to tell the world I actually had a heart..." Because that would be like sharing, wouldn't it? A secret only Jim knew, made it Jim's posesssion.

Sherlock's voice was so lovely. But tell the world? Whatever for? Maybe someday, when they operated under less restrictions... "What do you mean, darling?" he asked.

"That'd be how I lost," Sherlock gave a small, shy laugh. "Human error."

"Ohh, I see," Jim nodded, eyes sparkling. "It would /have/ to be that, wouldn't it. Couldn't  _bear_ to lose to me intellectually." Snickering,  Jim adjusted the collar of Sherlock's shirt. "Let's burn that bridge when we come to it. No need just now to worry ourselves. We've been mostly careful."

"Never hurts to plan ahead," Sherlock shrugged, kissing him softly. "And if we staged an entirely intellectual battle, well..." He smirked. "You know how adolescents play-fight, but then it slowly stops becoming a joke?"

A bit like when you thought it best to hold me down a bit ago?, Jim wanted to say. Or a bit like play-fighting with Sebastian? Oh, Jim knew, and the idea put a slow smile on his face. To go up against Sherlock's brain, properly...see what it was really made of, in the heat of a duel...Jim licked his lips, and nodded. "Uh-huh..." he encouraged, one fingertip caressing Sherlock's neck.

"Not like _that_ ," Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't shy away from the touch. "I...never mind! Train of thought has been hopelessly derailed." He closed his eyes, sighing in mock exasperation.

"Has it, now?" Jim teased, voice dropping low, the smile only widening. "Ever so sorry to distract you, darling..." Which was to say, not sorry in the least, as Jim leaned closer to kiss a tiny birthmark. "From such an...intriguing, line of thought..."

"That's lying," Sherlock pointed out, shifting away subtly from Jim, replacing the suggestive kiss with a chaste peck. "But I suppose if it's minor,  _hopelessly_ transparent lying, it doesn't matter."

Jim's eyes darted some at the mention of lying, but his face was too close and pointed downward for the shifting look to be noticed. At first he thought Sherlock moving away was some sort of jesting punishment for said white lie, as opposed to the bigger, black, unknown one, but no, it seemed more that Sherlock wasn't feeling very playful in that sense altogether. Hm. Would have to test again to know for sure. "More sarcasm, really, than lying," Jim debated, and after a moment added, "We never did decide what to do tonight."

"Well, I also wasn't horribly serious when I said I'd been derailed, nor in chastising you," Sherlock clarified, a bit distracted. "And. I don't know. Anywhere you want to break into?"

Like a dog picking up a distant scent, Jim had a hint of something, and began to wonder. Not derailed, or at least as much as Jim had been by the concept of two godly brains battling it out, all sentiment aside. Had been a possibility he'd entertained  _before_ the sentiment...Couldn't help thinking a showdown would be a weird kind of _hot_. Then again, Sherlock had been surprisingly intimidating in his interrogation technique. Maybe it wasn't the best thought. "Not particularly," Jim answered honestly. Why excess risk? Holding back a sigh, he shifted to recline again, reclaiming Sherlock's lap as pillow and taking his hand. A thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, with little clue how to voice them, but at least it took him out of thoughts of himself for awhile. "Why, itching to cause some trouble?"

"No, not really, but I wouldn't decline," Sherlock shrugged, hand absently carding through Jim's hair. "I know you're supposed to do things on dates that both parties enjoy. You like mischief, I like what it can bring me..." He gave a dreamy smile, thinking of a particularly wonderful triple murder the other day. "But I know you don't enjoy playing the good guy, seeing as it's most likely be fighting your own best-laid plans, so we can't do _that_. Thus I admit I may be at a loss for activities."

Hair massages had an instantaneously calming effect on the criminal, but his mind was racing. Had Sherlock been overthinking things? Now Jim was, too, and had to fight to pay attention to the actual words coming from his counterpart's pretty mouth. "Don't think I've ever /tried/ playing the good guy," Jim mused. "But any of your prospective clients would be expecting you and _John_..."

"True, but I doubt they'd care that it wasn't." People noticed so little. "Just the blog readers might get antsy for an update."

"Mm...still risky," Jim decided. Would be sort of fun, solving a crime with Sherlock, if he didn't think their combined mental prowess would have the job done in all of five seconds. Hell, same might've been the case if he'd had Sherlock at his side assessing body language from the meeting, footage. No challenge in it. He pulled their entwined hands to rest on his own chest; the silence might have been enjoyable, if Jim wasn't slightly concerned. But could've been a fluke, Sherlock's avoidance, not finding an intellectual war as attractive a notion. "Maybe a film if you've any worth watching...Or..." His thumb circled over Sherlock's palm, subtle but enticing. "Other...activities..." He smiled, but was carefully reading Sherlock's expressions.

"Ah. Well..." Sherlock blinked, keeping his tone and expression even as possible. He didn't exactly want to cross  _this_ bridge. In fact, if they were burning such structures, why couldn't it be  _this_ one? "It's difficult for me to watch films; usually I begin picking them apart at the first inaccuracy..." Impossible to hide behind, damn it. "What were you suggesting?"

"Oh, something you historically ignore but I'm...rather curious about your thoughts on, nowadays," Jim murmured. Gently. He still kept Sherlock's hand in his own. Wasn't about to go holding people down for the truth, after all. But what they'd had a few nights ago was entirely new to Sherlock, and Jim had to think he'd shifted away from the kisses for some reason other than Oh God Sebastian's Told Him, for his own sanity's sake.

"I doubt 'curious' quite summarizes it..." Stalling wouldn't work. Nor misdirection. Clearly, Jim had caught on. Options...well, he could tell him. Or he could tell him to back off, but that never yielded favorable results. "Perhaps not tonight," he said softly, fighting every urge to fidget uncomfortably. Probably wouldn't suffice as an explanation, but he didn't...It was difficult to explain!

Jim saw the conflict in Sherlock's features, and considered it. Not tonight for doing, or discussing altogether? Obviously the former, if not also the latter...And it was easy enough to reason that discussion now would be better than at a more  _pressing_ time, but he could feel the sudden discomfort coming off Sherlock in waves. Slowly, Jim raised their hands and kissed Sherlock's. "Alright," he murmured, and after a long moment, tried a different route. "Tell me this, then...do you have any fantasies?" Not what they were - merely whether Sherlock had any, at all. Maybe Sherlock would blush, maybe it was all still too soon for that sort of trust, but...it would either lead to actual talking, or best case scenario, something to do.

"All the time. The subject matter is mostly me living in a world where everyone isn't an idiot..." Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. "But that wasn't what you were asking. Unfortunately, sexually, I do not. However...It's clear that's something you'd like to discuss, is that not the point?"

Jim let that sink in. He'd give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt, alright, but he'd been under the impression that his darling chose to ignore impulses rather than being  _devoid_ of them. Couldn't fake an erection, after all...Hm. Jim kept his tone soft, and here Sherlock was bordering on defensive already. "Not mine," Jim deflected lightly, and was silent for several seconds. He had the idea. It would be easier to throw it out there for confirmation or denial, than trying to dig it out of Sherlock. "So...Indulging me," Jim half-purred, a fake half-smile on his lips, and kissed the long fingers again. "Suppose I should thank you..."

"Nonsense." Sherlock sniffed, averting his gaze, almost offended. "I wanted to. If  I hadn't, I wouldn't have done so." He was no such selfless creature. He did  _want_ to. Once. It was alright. But not worth pursuing further, in his opinion. Not when he was infinitely more interested in other things Jim had to offer him.

The thing was that indulgence wasn't that nonsensical an idea, if this was going the way Jim thought it was. If Sherlock was willing, anyway. Jim was withholding judgment, and keeping gut reactions momentarily at bay. "Okay, but  _why_ did you want to?" he questioned. There were all kinds of reasons for and types of want. Having Sherlock under a spotlight was fair play after the earlier scrutiny Jim had been under - and to the Evil Heartless Criminal's credit, he was being far more tender about it.

"A multitude of reasons, beginning with my own curiosity and ending with you being the only person that stimulates my mind," Sherlock fired off with his usual air of detachment. "And if I'm being perfectly honest, it'd be bestiality with anyone else. Most humans are closer in intelligence to a  _babboon_ than to either of us." He inclined his head. "So, I do thank you for the experience. It was not displeasing."

"Was," Jim repeated. "...right." He ran his tongue over his upper teeth in thought, sucking in a breath, a long exhale following. Some of the logic behind reactionless-ness was harder to cling to, but this wasn't an argument. Nor really a negotiation, and yet it had certain similarities. It was a good thing Jim didn't  _really_ believe in karma, because...Wow, not a great thought. "I'd like to know what limits you have in mind," Jim murmured after a silence.

"Limits?" Sherlock repeated. "What limits?" Could mean a lot of things. Christ, Jim looked defeated. He didn't like that. Would it have been kinder to lie? People generally didn't liked that. But Sherlock didn't. And he didn't exactly feel like having a bunch of sex he wasn't into, for the sake of someone else, either.

"I'd hate to place set  _lines_ around it, because that doesn't account for...heat of the moment, type things..." He'd dipped near mumbling there, and blinked a few times. "But I need to know what you  _do_ like and want. If...anything." He felt...horrid, really. And didn't want to kiss Sherlock's neck and be pushed away; worse would be reaching for Sherlock's  _belt_ and being pushed away. Not about to  _blame_ Sherlock for lack of heat, no, that was wrong, and that beautiful brain mightn't have flourished under different conditions, but... "Do you get what I'm saying, darling?"

"Ah..." Sherlock considered. He'd thought a lot about it, before now, but putting it into words that didn't effect Jim negatively might be tricky. "I...enjoy kissing you." _Most of the time. Unless preoccupied by something completely, full-mindedly._ But that was rare, and that was usually when investigating Jim's work anyhow. However, he enjoyed the kisses not for the sexual spark, more that it was comforting, close. "However, it's...worth noting, that you are correct: in certain situations, I find myself more aroused than others, and would be more amenable..."

A small smile curved Jim's lips at the enjoyment of kissing, at least. No way in hell he'd be able to keep from doing _that_. His hope was bolstered further by Sherlock's next words. Oh, it may not be as frequent as with Sebastian, but alright, this wasn't a total _death sentence_. Less nervous now, a little further away from absolute  _aloneness_ in want. It wasn't even just the actual sex - the idea of Sherlock being un-seduce-able, would have been difficult to stomach. Jim knew it wasn't so, but...he  _liked_ flirting, _liked_ seduction as much as its results. "Alright," Jim nodded slowly. "I just...don't want to annoy you. Because hell, Sherlock, I get riled just thinking about you." He said it smiling, without shame. "So...there'll be times when...we might get impatient with each other, for different reasons, and...I don't want that to hurt us," he explained carefully.

Sherlock pursed his lips, hoping he didn't look as lost as he felt. "I admit there are...things that confound me about human attraction, but I see you as...Appealing, aesthetically." Mouth running again. Stupid, stupid, but he couldn't stop it. "But it doesn't do nearly as much for me as a stimulating case. I said before that I'm married to my work, I just never expected it to be so literal..."

Jim might be annoyed and think the diatribe was self-righteous in some way, if Sherlock wasn't so damned adorable all the time. But if Jim got distracted by that, he wasn't  _really_ listening, was he? "I know that. I was thinking more specifics than general...Putting me off before it gets too _dire_ , for example, would be wisest, but...I suppose it depends on the day, huh?" As it would with anyone. But Jim was trying to frame this in a way he could more easily accept. Couldn't quite bring up how some days he just  _needed_ it to get out of his own head, thought wasn't sure why he was stuck on that point. Too related to Seb, probably. Too overwhelming for Sherlock.

"Right," Sherlock sighed. "I'll try. But I can't give you anything much for certain." Well. That wasn't entirely true, but would it sound too callous? "However. After thinking it over...It's not a big deal - at all..." His voice got lower, a slight blush appearing on his face. "Well, I wouldn't mind it much if you found such... _stress relief._..elsewhere."

Jim's mouth opened and closed without any words coming out, and his free hand rose, forefinger rubbing where nose met forehead. Okay. So. He'd uprooted literally everything, because Sherlock had _not_ wanted that...for Sherlock to hit upon this. Effectively passing the  _pesky problem_ off to Sebastian, who lamented  _feelings_ involved...Or to anyone, really. It was generous of Sherlock, but disheartening, too. Exactly what Jim needed, but he  _wanted_ Sherlock. And it didn't change what had occurred  _before_ this express permission...But there permission was for the taking and running with, and Jim knew they both knew he would.  "That's...nice to know."

Sherlock knit his brows together. "Have I said something wrong?" He'd have thought Jim would be happy to hear this! Certainly wasn't  _easy_ for him, but...Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with Jim's needs, so it seemed like the thing to do. Or at least, what most advice columns suggested for people with 'low sexual need' dating people of unequal lust.

"No," Jim answered, but perhaps too quickly. He was suddenly fighting the urge to flee - take off somewhere for a couple weeks at least, and see no one to whom he was remotely attrated. A disproportionate response, to Sherlock's thoughtful offer that sounded a hell of a lot like the man was giving up before Jim had a proper chance. Chance to...what,  _change_ him? Not gonna happen. So. This. An obvious answer to what would otherwise definitely be a problem. "No, you haven't," Jim assured more softly, and squeezed his hand. "It's...smart." 

"I know that I am," Sherlock referred to the 'smart, and bit his lip. "Which, is how I know that you're lying now." He was trying! And, well, if Jim wouldn't tell him when he did something wrong, how would he learn? He'd probably end up like John, hopelessly stuck on the same issues in his relationships.

Closing his eyes, Jim took a deep breath before opening them again. "Just...let me process this, alright?" He asked it with a tight smile that showed some teeth but not all, eyebrows raised. Something in his eyes didn't corroborate the smile, half-pleading, half-bitter. Sherlock was giving him exactly the most sensible answer that let him do as he pleased. And if Sebastian decided to spill the beans, it still wouldn't be enough to save them. And he and  Seb had come out with emotions, too... Jim liked Complicated for business, not personal. And still! None of it compared to having Sherlock all the ways and as often as he'd have liked. And it'd be a damn 'big deal' to Jim if the tables were turned, but he couldn't really wrap his head around that in full, and Hello Hypocrisy besides.

"Alright," Sherlock huffed, leaning back on the sofa. To read Jim's expression, or let it go unread? He said he could deduce him if he wanted. But did that really give Sherlock a right to pry into his thoughts? He stole a glance. Oh, oh, this was nothing good. "Jim," he whispered, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock was trying so hard. He didn't for many. That had to be enough to make up the difference. And deep down, Jim did see the wisdom in all of it. It just made things  _more_ difficult, in some respects. But this was Sherlock was dealing with for the moment, and going backward or forward in time in his head would be to steal the present from himself. He swallowed, leaning up a little. "Nothing a kiss won't fix," Jim murmured, expression softening some. Not the whole truth. But he and Sherlock had just navigated some murky waters. Even if Jim felt vaguely adrift in them, a kiss could be a rope pulling him back to safety.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. This clearly needed talking about! And, avoiding things was something he was good at. But he was also good at prying. Conversely...That wasn't what being in a relationship was about. Compromise. Caring. Everything that involved. He hummed neutrally, leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

Exhaling a sigh through his nose, Jim focused on the kiss. What he could have of Sherlock. Not that he'd probably been such a desperate mess on his birthday that Sherlock took  _pity_ enough to make an experiment of him, or that he'd obscured recent truths that lived as a ticking timebomb, fuck, he hated overthinking! The longer his lips were mashed to Sherlock's, the more it could work to silence it all, Jim's hand moving to his neck, thumb stroking just to feel skin and pulse. Just feel close. Not get sucked into his own horrible thoughts, for they'd pass and in a short time he'd be smiling, maybe even smirking, over the blessing it all was. But right now, he just needed...this.

Something was still wrong. He felt it, Jim's lips not quite at attentive as they usually were. Distracted. Fighting every uge to press, he continued, kissing him softly, moving his lips slowly, precisely. An unspoken conversation, as most of value between the two were, focused on cues, assumptions, and deductions. This simply...felt wrong. Very not-Jim.

It was helping, some. Dragging Jim back. Of course, if it went on for too long, other body parts would start taking interest, and Sherlock was a drug to him, one to be taken in moderation because drugs themselves were pitiless. But no, it was connection. Nothing so impersonal as taking, and one drag of Sherlock's lower lip against his own hit just the right sensitivity to wake him up a little, Jim finally kissing back. For all of three seconds, until the distant sound of a downstairs door opening, footfalls making him jolt away with wide eyes. "Hudson or John," he blurted in a whisper, needing Sherlock's more familiarized gauge but mentally plotting a beeline to the bedroom as soon as possible.

Sherlock gently pushed Jim off. "John," he whispered, knowing the heavier gait. "Bedroom. hHide." He fast-walked to grab the extra teacup and take it to the kitchen, hiding it in the fridge - should John notice, he'd say it was some sort of experiment.

Sherlock didn't have to tell Jim twice. Of all the things to deal with tonight, the  _priceless_ look on John's face still wouldn't be worth the bullshit that would result. Jim swung his legs off the sofa and, feeling amusingly adolescent about the situation, rolled his eyes as he walked down the hall. Could hear the footsteps up the stairs - how he and John, too, were like bits of space rock that rarely crashed together in their orbit around dear Sherlock. Jim heard the door open without time enough to close Sherlock's silently, so he merely slipped into the darkened bedroom, and stood flat against the wall for now. Letting out a sigh of relief - not because of John, but for having a moment sans the scrutiny.

Sherlock watched as Jim disappeared behind the door, not fractions of a second before the front door swung open. He swallowed thickly, returning to the living room, trying to seem casual. He had to at least say hello, lest he risk John knocking at his door later. "I take it things didn't work out with..." He'd deleted her name. "Whoever it was this week."

"Melissa, and working out fine, ta,"  John answered, not even bothering to give Sherlock a look of disapproval for not even trying to care. Relationships were outside his realm, and John's either bored him or inspired something he felt certain was close to jealousy of time spent, but would never say so. "Seen my wallet?" he asked, quick-glancing over the coffee table, cursing before doing so to the floor around it, then breezing past to the kitchen. "She had to pay for dinner, bit embarrassing, but I'm doing drinks to make up for it...Provided I can... _find_ the bloody thing..."

"Mm. Six days," Sherlock gave a callous estimate, then shrugged uncharacteristically animatedly. "Try your bedroom, I didn't see it in the living room earlier," he suggested as he began backing towards his own bedroom. 

"Yeah, alright," John agreed, and noticed with some happiness that there were no rotting body parts about, casual destruction or new messes - at least in the kitchen - to be dealt with later. But seeing Sherlock's violin out as he passed explained that well enough, and John hoped he's stay as entertained, as he barreled up the stairs to his room, not wanting to keep Melissa waiting long. 

Jim had leaned his head back against the wall, enjoying the darkness, and a little of John's scurrying. It was sneaky, ergo fun. If John had any idea Jim was there under his own roof...Yes, that cheered him a little. The sudden bustle of the little puppy of a doctor made for something to focus on that wasn't his own conflicting headspace. Sherlock may or may not press again. May or may not kiss him again. Either seemed equally possible. Right now he could only wait.

Sherlock nodded John off and once he heard him throwing his bedroom contents around haphazardly, he snuck back into his room, easing Jim away from the door as he locked it behind them. He huffed, running a hand through his curls. "Well. Surprise."

It was still dark, but was up to Sherlock to change that or not. Jim nodded. "Think I left my shoes in there," he recalled in a whisper, "But he's unobservant, and on a mission all his own." He reached for Sherlock and stroked his arm. "Close call..."

"Right," Sherlock hummed, hands resting on Jim's shoulders, gently pushing him back onto the bed. "I'll tell them they're mine if it comes up." He crawled onto the bed next to him, winding an arm over Jim's waist, tucking his face into his neck. He didn't want to think about John bothering them for any reason.

Jim was still listening for signs of John's staying or going, but there were few places he'd rather be now, Sherlock's bed more comfortable than the sofa. Tough to relax when reminded of the risk it all was...Perspective, though. Jim's arm came up around Sherlock, hand again finding his curls, gentle so as not to catch any tangled. He kissed Sherlock's forehead. "Love you."

Sherlock nodded, a slight movement, face still in the crook of his neck. He planted a very soft kiss at the jugular. "He'll be gone soon..."

Jim couldn't tell if it was Sherlock's way of telling him to shut up for now but he obliged, smiling some. And sure enough, soon the footsteps sounded jauntily back down to the main of the flat. "Night, Sherlock," John's voice called out, and then the careless bang of the door, and the outermost hall's steps, clomp, stomp. A silent laugh shook Jim's chest. "For such a tiny man, he makes an awful lot of noise..." he drawled, wondering if it was possible that  _John Watson_ had succeeded in being a _welcome_ nuisance for once, but having had to hide hastily had indeed changed something for the better. Or maybe it was Sherlock's kiss. Or Jim's unshatterable stubbornness, the brain that begged itself to ignore itself. 

"Indeed he does. Hell at an active crime scene, honestly," Sherlock sighed, hugging Jim tightly. Stupid John, changing the subject. He didn't want to bring it up again, so he let the silence reign. So much there. Jim's anguish with life, that was or was not directly something he needed medications for, and his utter crestfallen look when Sherlock had explained his own side of things... "Any business tonight?" he asked softly. "I'd like it if you stayed."

Jim squirmed slightly in the hug, but not away - getting more comfortable, closer, and considered both question and offer. "There's one small thing I should check on sooner than later, but I can do that on my phone," he answered, not reaching for it yet. Nowhere he'd rather be; the wallpaper in here was less seasick-making than the front room. "And the kiss earlier helped, thank you." A way of letting Sherlock know not to worry. Leave the worrying to  Jim, he was really good at it. But being in Sherlock's arms...

"No rush," Sherlock assured him, parroting his earlier statement, inhaling deeply. Jim's natural smell, under the faint cologne, was the subject of some fascination to the detective. So...alluring. Pheromones? Did humans even have such things? He must've read about it at some point... Without thinking, he'd begun to mouth at Jim's pulse point.

No rush for...work? Feeling 100? better? Both assuring, Jim reasoned, not bothering to question it. And it was easier to keep the fears from surfacing to Sherlock's all-seeing eyes, in the dark. _Oh. Hello, there._ Jim's eyes winced shut for a millisecond as he shivered, fingers tensing quickly against Sherlock's scalp. That felt nice. He almost didn't dare say so. Reminded himself not to get his hopes up, and appreciate the Nice, a pleased hum in his throat. 

Sherlock slowly dragged his teeth over Jim's neck then pulled back up, eyes trained on his face. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling. "Are we going to be okay?"

Jim's tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth on a sharp inhale at the drag of teeth; after all that talk fo not having much to offer, it seemed Sherlock was trying anyway. Lord. Jim's lips pursed eagerly against the other's, and he wanted to say _yes, of course,_ but there were always little nagging Details. Jim's alone to worry over. "We are...Unless you're purposely teasing me right now, because that's  _very_ rude," Jim pointed out, smiling back. He wanted to kiss every inch of Sherlock's neck, chest, wake every nerve, make them sing... _all the time_! What a sweet and tormenting affliction, to know it wasn't always welcome. Every moment, ever kiss, needed careful consideration or something. But it always had. No word or meaning should be lost between them, and Jim for all the outward quiet of his inner chaos, couldn't help but find hope in that Sherlock seemed to care when one was.

"Am I?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious. "I can stop, if that'd help..." He kissed him again, more intensely. He took a moment to enjoy the surprising softness of Jim's lips, how inviting it felt, breathing a bit heavier. "I've already set the precedent that I'll never do something I don't expressly  _want_ to.  So I don't think that plays into it."

Stopping wasn't what Jim would suggest, but it depended where Sherlock wished to take it. Not that he thought Sherlock would work him up only to leave him high and dry, but talk about mixed signals... Yet it was difficult to find fault with such a kiss, Jim's lips parting so that his tongue could brush along Sherlock's, teasing, tasting. Already he felt warmer. "Good precedent..." Jim breathed, hand slipping beneath Sherlock's shirt, stroking the warm skin of his side. _Don't get too excited, though._ "And if you get me going and get bored, I can always take care of myself..." Jim mused, kissing Sherlock's jaw near his ear. Not ideal, nor the most romantic of things to say, but better than trying to fight off the inevitable for sake of appearances or modesty.

"Al...right," Sherlock murmured, not quite sure how to reply. Maybe sometimes he'd be up to the task himself, but...he just wasn't as immersed. At least, not yet.  The night was young, however, and nothing was impossible. They'd had sex before without prompting, though he knew his own engagement was more out of curiosity than anything. So he made no move but to continue the kiss, sucking at Jim's tongue.

Jim had meant it to sound reassuring, full of non-expectation, but it had probably only been a reminder that he'd been all too used to being alone with wanting Sherlock, and that was sort of crude. But the worry over the words died when Sherlock brought him back to sensation, even if...even if he  _should_ be thinking, about controlling hopes more than precedents, but the kiss was gorgeous, drawing a soft moan from Jim. His hands sought Sherlock's, entwined and drew them over their heads and held them lightly enough to escape it if Sherlock wanted - a change of power, a little surprise, but he rushed nothing, keeping one action clear from another, not yet too overwhelmed even if his body twisted to more completely face his lover's, hips a scant few inches apart.

Sherlock felt his hands lifted away, feeling rather exposed. But he'd been exposed before, far worse. Now, it just had an extra sense of...guilt. He wanted to give Jim what he wanted. Jim, who'd been undeniably patient with him. Even if he didn't want those things. And the fact he'd just today learned Jim was borderline suicidal. On good days. It felt...wrong, somehow: distracting Jim rather than truly helping. But then again, men like them were beyond help. Distraction  _was_ help. The logic comforted him somewhat, letting him sink into the kiss further, parting his lips further, silently telling Jim that a little more would be alright.

The fingers clasped with Sherlock's,  Jim was monitoring how tightly they squeezed back. Some part of his brain was, anyway. The rest was sort of...falling further into the moment, letting himself believe it with less reserve, and he kissed with a hint more passion, tongue lapping at Sherlock's. He  _was_ mixed-up now, between brain and body, but one sounded so much better than the other, overly warm and half-hard, shifting closer subconsciously, chest to chest. 

Sherlock sighed in satisfaction, finding Jim's body against his a comforting thing. Engulfing. Not unlike swaddling himself in a blanket. But one with endless wit and potential for darkness, danger, chaos and all sorts of things Sherlock had yet to unearth. Breathtakingly beautiful, moreso than any painting. Alas...despite a soft moan of appreciation, Sherlock's body wasn't picking up on the signals.

Jim loved to make Sherlock make sounds, he really did. His teeth tugged at the lower lip before his tongue drove against his lover's again, body pushing helplessly closer. And then The  Bee Gees. The goddamned Bee Gees. Jim debated but sighed against Sherlock's mouth, drawing his hands down long arms and to his own pocket, giving Sherlock's lips a quick peck. "Don't hate me. And hold that thought." Dangerous discussing work with Sherlock in earshot; he would've let Neon Tiger ring out. Bringing his phone to his ear, Jim cleared his throat, pressed Answer, and ordered, "Make it quick."

"Of course." He'd been expecting such an interruption somehow, anyway. Caligula there had an empire to manage, after all. He laid back. Well. Moment to breathe. Guilt again. Hold that thought? Kissing was fine, but more than that? He just didn't seem interested. Worried. A twist in his gut. Hm. Sherlock sighed heavily. Perhaps he should talk about it when Jim was done...

He'd have to be careful with words, he knew, but couldn't bring himself to move far from Sherlock - but did thumb the volume button down on his mobile, and press it harder to his ear lest any words from down the line escape. "...No, that's done already: fabricated, hacked, backdated." He rolled his eyes in aggravation, hand seeking Sherlock's, showing he was present  _despite_ work as he listened. "It'll be enough to establish they had contact, email providers hand data over soooo willingly when governments ask nicely..."

Sherlock gave Jim's hand a squeeze, trying to filter out what he was hearing, willing it to be meaningless. He let his hand drift from Jim's, got off the bed and headed to the closet, pulling out some pajamas, his stiff shirt not the best to sleep in.

Jim's brow furrowed and a sigh left his lips, the first because of Sherlock slipping away, the second because of the reason for it being a waste of time. Anxious client. Why did they have to get anxious, and at the most inconvenient times? "Trust me when I say that the nature of the communication will put him well in suspicion for- Yes...Not yet...Two days, maybe three...Well, it will  _look_ like it was _supposed_ to look like an accident..."

Sherlock slid into flannel pajama bottoms, though he imagined they would grow too warm at some point. He at least had to make a show of it. He decided to forgo another shirt altogether. He returned to the bed, reclaiming Jim's hand idly as he laid back, still scrambling the messages mentally. "Careful, Jim, I might accidentally learn too much," he warned in a playful whisper.

A small laugh. "We do know better, don't we...No, you'll see it on the news before that happens, meanwhile the less you know, the better." Jim listened but only insofar as he really had to, attention temporarily caught by the sight of Sherlock undressing, oh...So much pale skin revealed so quickly... He licked his lips, having to close his eyes to return full attention to the call. "Anything last-minute, you call the associate's number I gave you, still have it?...Good. You've nothing to worry about, I assure you..." Jim's hand left Sherlock's to trace idly up a bare arm, too entranced. "Yeah, that's all...Ciao for now, mhm, bye." Jim sighed exasperatedly and hung up, handing the phone to Sherlock. "Put that on the floor, darling? I want nothing more to do with it. Made 500 grand, but lost your kisses..." he pouted.

"A worthy price, I should think," Sherlock smirked, blushing only slightly at how sincere Jim seemed. He gently set the mobile on the floor, returning his attention to Jim. "And I don't think it's an either/or decision. I'm still here, after all."

"I'll turn it off next time, promise," Jim stated, though that seemed unrealistic. At least he'd start assigning ringtones between clients, Most Important & Timely to Least. Leaning close, he kissed Sherlock's bare chest, thinking with the moonlight streaming in it resembled the emperor's obsession more than over. "Damn the empire, I want the moon..."

"But I'd wager the empire isn't terrible to have at your disposal." Sherlock let his fingers run through Jim's hair. "You should leave this un-gelled sometime," he said absently, wondering what it looked like naturally, free arm coming around to pull Jim close.

Jim laughed softly. "It's a mess that way," he argued good-naturedly, as if Sherlock hadn't floofed it into such a state in the past. Jim was convinced actual angels descended from the heavens to each twist a curl on Sherlock's head after his showers. Not really, but may as well have. A palm sliding over Sherlock's chest as he moved in closer again, reclaiming his lips in another kiss. Probably had killed the atmosphere by accepting the call. Never again. Not fun.

Sherlock returned the kiss, a bit distracted. He let it go on for a moment, but lightly pressed a palm to Jim's chest. "I don't want to _tease_ ," he warned, "But...regrettably, I don't think I'm up for much more."

Jim's head moved against the pillow, neck craning in oscillation as if he was deciding what to think about that. Might kill the client after getting paid, but Jim _had_ known better than to have expectations, even if his body thought it a fine plan. "Alright," he murmured, but knew he might not stop himself from devouring Sherlock with his eyes. Jim looked puzzled for a second. "It does present an...interesting little quandary, though," he began.

"And that would be...?" Sherlock asked, laying a few kisses on Jim's neck.

"Mmkay, that  _is_ teasing now," Jim stated, falling prey almost immediately to a shiver. "And: part of the quandary. Because suppose you enjoy sensations, but I don't know when I'll be stopped in giving them, despite them feeling good to you. So I find myself...nervous to, almost. And suppose I enjoy them, but don't know when  _you'll_ stop giving them, so end up...fighting myself on whether to..." Jim sighed, rather than work the sentence properly. This was coming out a real mess. Sounding more like an equation than sex. Not  _wanting_ to admit outright that he was at a loss, but there was something earnest in his attempt to do so.

Sherlock pulled back, frowning. He stared at him a moment, confused on how to take Jim's meaning. "You make me sound like a minefield," he commented, not exactly liking the implications. He thought he'd been quite generous and understanding. And clear, especially just then. "I just told you where to stop. At least for tonight. I won't _punish_ you for overstepping. Just remind you. What more do you want by way of instruction?" Or was he missing something? Given the circumstances, it didn't feel impossible.

Minefield was actually...a fairly apt analogy. Jim swallowed.  Too used to a relationship - yes, it had been one - where he could initiate, lure, convince whenever it pleased him, and sometimes be lured in turn. Different rules, now. Jim's chest ached, a weird stab of pain - both at the realization he'd offended Sherlock, and at being misunderstood. Or less understood than he'd have liked to be. "You were very clear just now," Jim agreed cautiously. "But then kissed my neck anyway..." No accusation to it; more utter confusion. "I like these things too much, darling, you have to understand. If I can't wind you up, hardly fair to do it to me..."

"Yeees...and I had done it earlier this evening, it's still a kiss," Sherlock shrugged. "I don't mind that at all." He brushed their lips together. "I know I'm difficult. I hear it almost daily. But you're the only person who doesn't say it in reference to nearly every moment of my existence..." He bit his lip - despite that, Jim was the  _only_ person allowed access to this side of him. Meaning 100% of people he was engaged in sexual relations with, found him frustrating. Great. He sighed. "I- I don't mean to. We can stop."

"Whoa. Hey. Sherlock." Jim had almost heard the wheels and cogs turn on that one - was that what the starts of his own descending spirals sounded like? "I don't want to stop, altogether." He lifted Sherlock's chin gently. "Really,  I...there aren't words for how unspeakably attractive  _everything_ you are, is to me. And I hate to use the word 'susceptible' in regards to myself, but..." Was he ever, though. "Maybe just...a rule. No kisses below the chin past a certain point of...possibilities."

"...Fair enough," Sherlock said. Of course, there was more he wanted to say, pursue different lines of questioning. But he knew not to dig too deeply on this - might make him seem even  _more_ high-strung, if it were possible. He pressed another kiss to Jim's lips. "Any other rules?" 

Jim returned the kiss gratefully, if not still uncertainly. He wondered if his expression seemed as nervous as he felt. "Not a rule, but...I may have just made getting off sound more important than just being with you, and..." Jim had started floundering about a minute ago and was seemingly on a roll of it. "Didn't mean to. I'm new to the idea that it's not. Never really realized it was worth a damn, until you."

"That's a bit worrisome, but I thank you for your candor." It didn't really matter, he supposed, what happened in the past. People weren't important for orgasms for Sherlock, but then again, they weren't really important for  _anything_ in his world. Information, yes. But company was also a novel idea for him, and not just from a skull that couldn't reply. He laid across Jim's chest, pressing his ear over his heart.

Candor. Yeah. Right. Arm wrapped around Sherlock, his hand drifted over shoulders, bumps of spine, soothing lazy strokes of his palm as he stared at the ceiling. Fighting off the sense of dissatisfaction that had dared creep into his head. Jim closed his eyes, not tired enough yet to sleep but wishing rather sincerely that the need for it graced him sooner than later.  Too many thoughts, bounding up at the first opportunity of silence and each wanting their turn to dance on the center stage of his mind. Lucky if they just danced; some wanted to shout. He kissed the top of Sherlock's hair. They  _would_ be okay, they had to be, for anything to be worth anything.

"You're thinking quite loudly...anything I should be aware of?" Sherlock asked against his chest, nuzzling. If Jim's somewhat robotic movements weren't enough to tell, one peek at his face was ample to hear a distant scream of Mind Occupied.

A beat. "No, silence is preferable to my...word vomit," he muttered drily, still stroking Sherlock's bare back. Would be more comfortable to be wearing less, too, but Jim didn't feel like getting up to change, not with Sherlock finding him a seemingly acceptable pillow.

"I disagree," Sherlock said, lifting hs head and propping up on an elbow to better look at Jim. "I rather like hearing you speak. No matter the context."

_So beautiful..._ Jim's hand fell from Sherlock's back when he shifted, and he shook his head slightly against the pillow. Just because Sherlock liked it didn't mean Jim had to--   ohh, wasn't that ironic.   "Sweet, but...tired. If it's dull you can go back to violin, I don't mind just listening." Both seeking entertainment. Well, Sherlock wasn't really. He was seeking Jim's thoughts. Aand those weren't very entertaining just now. More a muddle.

"If you'd like...But, I rather like _this_." He inched up the bed, coming to be face-to-face with  Jim. He granted the criminal another peck to the lips. "Just thought you should know," he added softly before climbing off the bed, heading to the living room, having left his violin near the window.

Sherlock had a way of saying a hell of a lot with few words, and...well, shit. He'd just _dismissed_ Sherlock, out of _S_ _herlock's own bed_. That...wasn't great and Jim regretted it immediately, the bed instantly colder for it as he huffed out a long breath, shifting to lay on his side. Maybe he should just go, if all he wanted to do was lay around thinking. It was uncommunicative and a waste of time, and to think Sherlock should just accept it... Something wrong about that, even as he was sure Sherlock did it often enough to others. Didn't want to go, though. Hoped the music might lull him to sleep. Wanted to see Sherlock playing shirtless and pajama'd, too, but shouldn't find him unless he had something to /say/. Jim was failing to be a good distraction from the boredom, he feared. And that was as bad as anything else.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was distinctly unperturbed. He grabbed his violin gingerly, ever-reverent of it. Returning slowly to the bedroom, he cocked his head to the side, Jim's face still too...busy, for his liking. "Any requests?"

He hadn't expected Sherlock to come  _back_ with it...oh, well. "No, whatever you like," Jim answered, forcing a small smile. Forcing his eyes closed, too, much as he wanted to watch. _Drug. Small doses. Besides, you're supposed to be tired. Supposed to be a lot of things..._

Sherlock played the first thing that came to mind, slow, dragging melodies of Bach. He let himself bask in the notes, forgetting anything else for a few minutes.

Listening, drifting, Jim realized with a fair amount of certainty he might not be lifted up and out tonight. Sherlock could prompt and poke all he liked, but there was too much to process. Could've been worse. Being here was better than home, all by himself, but...without being allowed to apologize, Jim couldn't even voice his regret for practically kicking Sherlock out of bed, and out of the sphere of Jim's present thoughts. Sherlock thankfully didn't seem bothered, but who could really tell? When it ended, Jim's eyes opened, arms stretched out; where his hand lay would have looked like reaching for Sherlock, were it not so slack. "Tired, angel?"

"A bit," Sherlock admitted, setting the instrument down on his dressed. He got back on the bed, curling around Jim. "It  _is_ actually my night to sleep."

Taking the cue from Sherlock's long limbs, Jim turned to face away from him, smiling faintly. Warmth again, and Sherlock close. Good. "Sounds like a plan," he murmured, wondering how long it would be tonight until either of them were actually able to drift off. Too long, probably. "Thanks for playing for me, s'beautiful..."

As Jim settled in his arms, Sherlock fell asleep almost immediately after pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. It was almost unheard of, falling asleep without tossing and turning, but he was oddly comfortable. And he'd spent the past few nights awake, stressing about needing to have that conversation. Now that it was out of the way, he felt relieved, like things would be okay.

With slow Bach strains still ringing in his ears, Jim listened to Sherlock's breathing.  Not moving for fear of disrupting him, as those were punctuated by the occasional light snore. Too many thoughts. Alternating between closing his eyes to dream up ways of handling worse-case scenarios, and staring at the wall, it was another two hours hours before he finally succumbed to sleep. 


	11. MorMor - texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: MorMor
> 
> contents: texts
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> shortly after the previous chapter

Well done yesterday. Good job being the dreaded Moriarty. -JM

Thanks. Kinda second nature now. -SM

When do you and Irene take off? -JM

Friday afternoon. -SM

Blocked on schedule so I remember not to put you on anything. -JM

**[several texts missing, sorry]**

Such a bastard. -JM

My middle name. -SM

Thought that was Reckless? Oh, no, wait, it's Augustus. Way less cool. -JM

Yes, we're all aware you had my birth certificate pulled and destroyed. -SM

[delay] Ennis. -JM

J.E.M. is a girl's name. -SM

Oh, go fucking pack. -JM

**[more texts missing. Next Day? seems Sebastian came over that night?]**

I like watching you sleep. You always look more hopeful. -SM

I found and have my reasons. Just need the will. Which, ironically, one needs Will to go searching for. But that's on me. I'm not making any promises, and I wasn't really made for this place. But that I love you both is something, rather than more nothing. -JM

The world is unworthy of you. -SM

I know. But thanks for saying so. -JM

As am I. But you stick with me anyway. Which baffles me. -SM

Must be those charms I mentioned earlier, that are hard to spot until you're laughing. -JM  
That and you're really good at killing people. I like that in a trusted person. -JM

Doesn't hurt I'm decent at sex. -SM

More than decent. But unless we get hot under the collar and just can't help ourselves, I'm not actually counting that as a reason for sticking. -JM

I recall a few nights like that... -SM

Pretty memorable. -JM

[Assuming he's better DELETED] Then promise not to make me live in a world without you. -SM

It would put you out of your dream job, wouldn't it. -JM

Fuck the job. -SM

How am I supposed to promise you that? -JM

It's not rational. -SM

I could promise I'd have you taken out, too, if that helps. But  I'm staying for now, honey. If this is stemming from having to be away for a week... -JM

**[end lost, sorry again, but posted anyway to show that they're doing better than they were, yay]**


	12. Sheriarty - Jim moody, Sherlock comforting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pairing: Sheriarty
> 
> contents: Jim dissociative, Sherl attempting to help
> 
> PREVIOUS LOST PARTS/PREMISE:  
> THIS IS SERIOUSLY JUST A FRAGMENT, WHYYYY DIDN'T WE SAVE EVERY WORD, WE'RE SORRY

**[beginning of scene lost, evidently takes place on one of Jim's quieter kind of bad days, MAYBE some short while after a visit to Irene for her services since Jim's back is scratched up badly and in our RPland there was only one reason for that to have occurred, whip it good...]**

"Just..." The 'u' was very nearly swallowed by a long-hissing S. "Off..." Allergic to brute honesty, wasn't a good answer; but was that even it? Jim was worried about their lives, Sherlock was worried about lies. Too many entangled truths had resulted. For the better, no doubt, but... "Like I'm not really here..." It was different from sadness. Melancholy was quieter. This was a dull roar but incomprehensible, so many lapping waves of thought, so many currents to get swept down into.

Sherlock considered. Sounded vaguely dissociative, but he wasn't feeling up to prying any further, suspicious that he'd caused this. "Anything I can do?"

"Ummm...Talk to me, anything..." His hand curved over Sherlock's knee, a tenuous grip on the tangible. This hadn't happened in the office before, he mused with what remained of clarity, while everything in it looked unfamiliar. Collections of shapes. His mouth had slackened, and everything felt dull, despite a rapid blinking to try and clear it, empty it all out. "Touch..." Back in the day some lashes from Irene had been helpful, but oh, Sherlock had never much warmed to that as an option for Jim. Sherlock was here, though, right here, even if Jim wasn't really, and that was good, wasn't it?

Touch? Talking he had a firm grasp on, but...  He pulled Jim, bringing his back flush against his front, wrapping his arms tightly about his midsection. "Cold Welding is a practical conundrum in rocket science, especially in vacuums," he began, kissing the back of Jim's neck. "See. When two materials, the exact same materials, are touching in a void, the atoms forget they're part of separate objects, and then begin swapping freely - effectively making them the same structure." He kissed his hair. "Hell of a problem when it comes to making satellites."

Jim was dimly aware of being moved about, not going limp but malleable, the flare of pain of being dragged to rest against Sherlock making him jolt, gasp softly. He was...alive, or at least his skin was, though unable yet to follow the story if story it was. Drew in a breath at the kiss, still staring dull-eyed, but...void, touching in a void, that was them all over. Jim laid his head back against Sherlock's shoulder, just listening, dreaming on this. Coming around. "Same structure..." he murmured, the shapes beginning to ease back into making sense but Sherlock as the only one that mattered, and  Jim's fingers gingerly traced over the backs of fine fingers. These shapes definitely made sense, and Jim smiled slowly, gratefully, tilting his head towards Sherlock enough to press a tiny kiss to his jaw. "Rockets to the moon...My moon..."

Sherlock smiled. "Exactly." He drew him closer, momentarily forgetting about Jim's injured back. "We're the same. Perhaps it scares me a little..." he whispered affectionately. "That we've always been the same, slowly fusing together on a near atomic level, and now would be...catastrophically painful to try and sort out what's actually different..." He craned his neck to peck Jim's lips. "One experiment that I realize would be worse to try than to leave unanswered."

Jim closed his eyes, all the better to soak up and internalize the sweetness of these admissions. They were so pure, and the rugburn feeling across his back only enhanced his attention level. Jim couldn't speak for a moment, letting the reasons for Sherlock's hesitation touch him, his hand rising to stroke Sherlock's cheek in turn. "We're gonna find out, you know. Little by little." The words were a little sad at first but meant ultimately to reassure. "Those new atoms are gonna fuck us right up, honey. But they're just tiny, 1-trillionths of the whole. And I have a feeling we'll remember that, no matter what."

"I've been informed that time does interesting things...Gives us the chance to adapt, heal, overcome obstacles..." He noticed that Jim was slowly emerging from the shell, and wanted to keep him talking, no matter how banal his own statements. "And we have all the time our mortal coils will provide. Which I suspect is going to be quite a while." He kissed him again, more fire to it now that he felt Jim of strong enough mind to notice, consent. "Years. If you'll allow it."

If Jim's breath stuttered now, it was because of the magnitude of Sherlock's words. He nodded slowly, arm slipping around his soulmate's neck at the kiss, overwhelmed by it. Sherlock had pulled him up out of the void, with just...love. Incredible. "I-" he started, and the tinny opening notes of Staying Alive cut in, and Jim laughed softly. The food. Damn. Swallowing, Jim finally said, "You know...I love being right." And slowly slipped out of Sherlock's embrace, moving to the desk to get the phone.

"Right? About what?" Sherlock mouthed the question as Jim answered the call. He drew his legs onto the couch, crossing them as he considered Jim. Hoping that comment wasn't about some bet or game he was playing - Sherlock had been genuinely concerned, and rightly so. But maybe this was part of Jim's bouncing back, feeling more himself. In that case, it was acceptable.

Jim told the front doorman to let the delivery person come up and quickly ended the call, moving back over to Sherlock. "When we met at the pool," he said, voice then dropping to a whisper. "Told you you had a heart." And then he was gone from the room, leaving Sherlock with that while he went to retrieve the food.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and this ends the file saved to computer called Bits. File Bits 2, along with some full scenes, will be up soon.)


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